


Secondhand Shadow

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012), Inception (2010)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, personality changes, possibly shades of dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forging involves breaking down the original personality and grafting a new one over it. Eames is one of the best in the business because his forges are flawless. So far, he had managed to avoid any complications or aftereffects from his forges. But forging Bane is a whole new experience, and pushes his skills to the next level. Including Bane bleeding through after the job is done.</p><p> </p><p>Incorporates the prompt <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/20092.html?thread=49581436#t49581436">"...And I mean that. It's not just a line."</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Job Like No Other

I will show you something different from either  
Your shadow at morning striding behind you  
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;  
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.  
-T.S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"

 

"You owe me," Berenger said, eyes narrowing as he slammed his palm down on the table in front of Eames. He was nearly as tall as Eames, with plain brown hair and eyes set in a hard-edged face and a mouth that was edged with very thin lips. Berenger was the sort of man that faded into the background and easily passed as a construction worker or some sort of physical laborer. They were sitting at Eames' favorite outdoor café in Old Town of Mombasa, and Eames was rapidly losing his patience with Berenger. He had hoped to simply have a bite to eat, people watch, maybe catch up with a few of his friends now that the whispers of inception have died down. He had spent a month after the Fischer job in Brazil, building up a bit of a tan. His blonde hair and blue eyes were the same, as were his broad shoulders. There was no real way to disguise his physical form in real space the same way he did in dream space.

Eames masked his sigh with a sip of his coffee. As much as he would have liked to tell Berenger to get the hell out of Mombasa, the man had a point. Years ago, during a job that went south, Eames would have been shot when Berenger arrived just in time to kill the man and lead Eames to safety. He hadn't taken payment at the time, saying he would rather have a favor to cash in one day in the future.

That day apparently was today.

"What's the favor, then?" Eames asked in an easy drawl, as if it didn't matter one bit what it would be. Knowing Berenger, it was very likely to be dangerous or stupid.

"I need the location of a weapons cache belonging to the League of Shadows," Berenger said, flashing Eames a confident smile. "They were largely dispersed after that debacle in Gotham last year, and I know there are caches hidden. I'm sure I can sell one back to Bane."

Apparently, Berenger had gotten reckless over the past few years, and liked jobs that were both incredibly dangerous and phenomenally stupid.

"You can't push around the League of bloody Shadows," Eames hissed in alarm.

Berenger snorted and tossed back his latte with a disinterested air. "You owe me," he repeated, eyes narrowing again. "You get me a cache location and we're square." He leaned back in his seat, as if sensing that Eames wasn't going to argue. "I can give you two months to get me the information. After that, I'll have to assume you're trying to cheat me out of a fair bargain."

There was no room to bargain; it had been an open favor to pay for his life. Now it was time to collect. With interest.

"Well then," Eames began with false congeniality, "I'd best get to work."

***

"I may need some of your compounds," Eames told Yusuf with a sigh, sitting in the chemist's office. He idly stroked the back of one cat as it brushed past his leg. He had spent the past week obtaining all archived footage of Bane's appearances in Gotham City, but Eames knew full well that a public face wasn't always the same as a private one. Yusuf had always been a good listener, so Eames had come to him.

Yusuf heaved a sigh as he leaned back in his desk chair. "My friend, you are not so deluded as to try to extract from the masked devil himself?"

"Good God, no," Eames replied, aghast. "I rather value my life."

"I thought so."

"But news casts and terrorist demands won't be enough to get what I need."

"Then you're going to extract the devil's personality to extract the cache data for Berenger? That's absolutely mad."

"I don't exactly have a choice."

Yusuf sighed, then poured Eames more tea. "You're skilled, Eames, but even that is too much of a challenge."

"There's Barsad."

"His second?" Yusuf asked, amazed. "You couldn't..."

"The League didn't bother to get him because he failed his mission. He's been in isolation twenty-three hours of every day for the past year. They claim suicide watch, but it's to keep other prisoners or the League from killing him." Eames' eyes gleamed. "I could possibly get cache data from him."

"Goodness, Eames, that's bold, even for you."

Eames grinned. "I could do it, couldn't I?"

"But Arkham hasn't been breached in twelve years, at least."

"Thirteen," Eames corrected, still grinning. "Now, why do you know that? I've looked it up, just this morning, trying to hatch this mad plan. What's your excuse?"

Yusuf chuckled. "There may have been interest regarding the concoction surrounding that particular jail break."

"Ah... I should have guessed." Eames tapped his jaw. "You could come with me, extract the formula from his mind."

"Oh, no. One jaunt with you was quite enough."

"That was hardly my fault," Eames protested.

"You brought that madman to my door."

"I wasn't about to trust anyone else's skill in a job like that. I'm not _that_ reckless!"

Smiling like one of his cats, Yusuf sipped his tea. "Well."

"Just so, Yusuf. You're bloody brilliant."

"You'll need other brilliant minds on this, you know," Yusuf warned, accepting the praise as his due. "Having my compounds is just one piece in the larger puzzle."

Eames frowned. "I'm doing the extraction and forging. I've covered quite a bit already, so I may not need point."

"Get one," Yusuf advised. "It's the bloody League of Shadows. You can't be too cautious where they're concerned."

Making a mental note of that, Eames nodded. "All right. If I must. I believe Andersen is out of commission, broken leg. I suppose I could use Wyeth or Arthur. Neither are attached to any extractors right now."

"Wyeth is... shall we say, forcibly retired," Yusuf told him delicately. "The bloke didn't pay enough protection money."

"Damn. The man was good. Arthur, then? He's thorough and scarily efficient, if a bit staid. It's the army in him, I believe."

"You just like the competition," Yusuf accused, an air of teasing in his voice. "He's good, from what I saw. Yvette is free."

"Is she?" Eames asked, eyebrow arched. "I thought she would never work with me again."

"That was years ago. Nicole and Marta mellowed her out quite a bit."

Eames chuckled. "You're quite the gossip."

"Oh, don't pretend you don't thrive on that, too."

The chuckles turned to outright laughter. "Perhaps."

"I'll ask, see who bites first. The only other point that I can imagine might even be League caliber is Tolwyn."

Yusuf shook his head. "No."

"No?"

"No." Yusuf didn't elaborate.

"Arthur or Yvette. Slim pickings, then."

"League," Yusuf reminded Eames.

"Yes, well. Architect is next. I don't know many. Pearce is middling to average. Bhatt is so painfully self-aware and full of himself." Eames ignored Yusuf's amused snort of suppressed laughter. "I suppose if Nash is still alive or Carstairs crawls out of the bottle..."

"We both know a brilliant one..."

"She's innocent," Eames hissed. "I won't do that to her."

"Ariadne would build Gotham City for you," Yusuf murmured. "She would make it beautiful in all its damaged, ravaged glory, and you could trick Barsad. She doesn't have to be there, you know. She wasn't supposed to be part of the Fischer job."

But it worked because of her, because she was flexible and determined and new enough to believe anything was possible inside of a dream. There were no preconceived notions or bad habits to break. Her imagination and curiosity were limitless.

And more importantly, Eames _liked_ her.

Eames looked at Yusuf. "Are you playing matchmaker, old man? Because I won't draw her into this any further than a simple design."

"You aren't this protective of many people," Yusuf observed.

"How many deserve it?" Eames challenged.

"Very few," Yusuf allowed.

"Well, then," Eames replied, settling the matter. "As long as she's not in the field. Arthur or Yvette can watch over our bodies topside."

"Somehow, you make that sound filthy."

"It's a gift," Eames replied with a laugh.

Yusuf laughed along with him, then finished his tea. "All right. I will make the compounds you need. Go build your team."

***

Yvette cursed Eames soundly once she heard that the League of Shadows might be involved. "I like breathing," she said finally. "No. Not just no, but _hell no._ Find some other fool."

Arthur saw it as the challenge it was and happily didn't call him any names. "What's the deadline?" he asked, voice crisp and cool as Eames remembered it.

"I need to get information to Berenger in seven weeks. It all depends on whether I get it all out of Barsad or need another middle man."

"Hm... We'll have to budget extra time, then, in case you need to do the second extraction," Arthur began, thinking aloud. "Barsad is in lockdown at Arkham. Even the League hasn't gotten him out of there."

"I'm sure they don't require his services," Eames told Arthur. "I'm sure if they did, Arkham wouldn't be standing right now."

"It means we have an hour's duration to get to him, unless we can coordinate it with a checkup of some kind."

"Ooh. Medical check? That would take a number of very large bribes."

"Fresh from the Fischer job, you should be good for it. Unless you've managed to gamble it all away already."

Eames snorted. "I may take chances, but I know how to protect myself when it counts."

"Good to hear," Arthur replied, meaning it. There were too few forgers in the field, let alone good ones. "Who's doing the build?"

"I've left a message for Ariadne."

Arthur was so very silent in response to that, Eames nearly thought the line went dead. "Please repeat that."

"I'm serious, Arthur. I've left message for Ariadne. I don't plan to let her get anywhere near Gotham City."

"Why _Ariadne?"_ Arthur asked, voice quiet. For someone who regularly tried to get information on everyone and everything, it seemed to be out of character for Arthur to not expect that move.

"Blank slate. And most of the others I know skilled enough to fool a League member wouldn't go near this."

Arthur seemed to accept that excuse, and soon hung up in order to begin looking into the arrangements for Arkham. Eames wondered at his reaction to choosing Ariadne. Personal interest or guilt, perhaps? Cobb certainly wouldn't have any reservation about getting a talented graduate student to indoctrinate, but that wasn't Arthur's style in the least. An ex-military man, Arthur would want to minimize any casualties and protect whatever innocents he could. Eames understood the urge full well, having his own military history, but he had lost most of his compunctions long ago. Freelance work in dream share or other illicit activities sometimes involved tainting innocents. He hoped that Ariadne would survive their influence, adapt somehow and thrive. Eames didn't wish her harm at all.

Ariadne of course was delighted to work with him again. "I'm just about done with my thesis project, so I can definitely work on a single level plan for you," she said with enthusiasm.

"It would have to look like Gotham City," Eames told her.

She giggled. "There's a whole section on Gotham City in one of my old textbooks, along with parts of Chicago and New York for the Art Deco style. I can definitely do that. It'll be a nice break from my thesis, then."

"You're a life saver," Eames told her, enjoying the sound of her giggles. It was completely artless, out of pure joy of building. She could be utterly determined to succeed, but she wasn't the type to recklessly use others the way Cobb had. In this field, it was refreshing.

"Should I come out to meet you?"

"Well, with your thesis, should you really do that?"

"I've always loved traveling..."

"So any excuse will do?"

"Something like that," Ariadne replied with a laugh. "As long as I'm back in time to present my final thesis, I'm set."

"So when do you present?"

"In just over two months."

"Long after I need this."

"Which is?"

"As soon as possible. And I don't mean to play around too much on this job."

"Why? Is it dangerous?"

 _Incredibly so,_ he nearly said. Instead, Eames merely chuckled. "Not for you, my dear. I'll need the build to memorize, then it's all over for your involvement."

"If you're sure..."

"Absolutely. Just make me a realistically gritty, dirty Gotham and I'll be all set."

"Oh, I can do that for you easily."

"I'll even buy you your plane tickets as an advance graduation gift," Eames told her impulsively.

"That's so thoughtful, thank you," Ariadne said warmly. He could even picture the slight rosy flush to her cheeks, the way her entire face could light up when she smiled.

"You're my favorite architect."

Now came her hearty laughter, full of genuine amusement at his words. Eames loved the sound of it. "Oh, you. Such a flatterer."

"Only truth for you, darling," Eames told her, pouring on the charm. He liked her and the sound of her laughter, which was a sound not heard too often in the field. "You're far more pleasant and pleasing to the eye than most I've worked with before."

"Okay, I can probably accept that," Ariadne said with a laugh. "You still have my contact information, then?"

"Memorized for safety, my dear," Eames replied. "I'll send you details."

"Great," Ariadne said with enthusiasm before beginning her goodbyes.

He tried telling himself that his interest was only professional. It had nothing to do with personal interest. Not at all.

***

Yusuf didn't make any comments when Eames had Ariadne stay in the guest room of his flat in Mombasa. His eyes were expressive enough, however, and the chemist's mirth was as clear as day for Eames to see. He ignored it and simply showed Ariadne the materials she needed to make her models and sketches. She was pleased with the attention to detail and set to work immediately. Yusuf knew it was out of the ordinary for any job and certainly for Eames. He stayed silent, which made Eames absurdly grateful, and was his usual affable self as he met with Ariadne or took her around Mombasa during her breaks. It was reciprocation for the tours of Paris she had given him while they all worked together on the Fischer job.

Eames stayed in contact with Arthur regarding his infiltration of Arkham Asylum to get Barsad. Getting something into his food to induce vomiting wouldn't be difficult at all. He would be seen on video monitors, then medical staff would evaluate him. Once in the infirmary, Barsad could be sedated and then hooked to a PASIV for Eames to extract information or gain enough first hand memories to forge Bane. Or both.

Ariadne built a Gotham City that was dark, smoky and gritty. It was all that Eames had asked for, perfect for a league member to move through. "It's brilliant," he told her, looking around the dream city in awe. He laid his appreciative gaze on her, much as he had when he had seen her snow fortress. Eames brushed her hair from her cheek as he said _"You're_ brilliant."

Her eyes widened. "Eames," she began, voice almost uncertain.

"I mean that. It's not just a line."

"I believe you," she murmured. She pressed his hand to her cheek and smiled gently. "I know you lie as well as you breathe, but on this I do believe you."

"Because for once, it's absolute truth."

"Where would it go?"

"Haven't a clue," he replied, shrugging. He let his hand fall from her face and gave her a rueful smile. "Perhaps, if you're willing to wait here at my flat until I get back from Gotham, we can find out together."

Ariadne weighed his words and nodded, that same gentle smile on her face. "I'll stay."

Eames left for Gotham soon after, feeling almost silly. The two had never even kissed. He was definitely protective of her, but whether it could really turn romantic remained to be seen. He supposed that Ariadne would remain in Mombasa to see what he wanted, but would primarily be interested in maintaining a work relationship. She wanted to work in dream share, but didn't know many in the field. Ariadne wouldn't want to lose the contacts she did have. Eames understood that and couldn't expect there to be too much more on her part, but it was nice to pretend that there could be.

Arthur's planning went off without a hitch. Barsad became violently ill about two hours after lunch. In the medical wing, one of the paid off techs added one of Yusuf's sedatives to his water. As soon as he fell asleep, Arthur came out of hiding with his PASIV. Eames followed, rolling up his sleeve. The needles went in smoothly, and Yusuf's altered somnacin flowed cleanly as soon as Arthur hit the button.

Eames opened his eyes and he was standing in an alley just outside of Gotham's worst neighborhood. He couldn't be that far away from Barsad, but he didn't know where Bane's second actually was. Eames picked a direction and began to walk, admiring Ariadne's work. As he walked down the street, he caught sight of Bane and Barsad. Bane was tall, heavily muscled and wore the face mask. It obscured all the distinguishing features of his face and altered the sound of his voice, making it more difficult to distinguish his accent. Eames moved forward, blending in with the followers. They were discussing plans to take apart municipal utilities, which hadn't fallen yet. Considering the timeline, it had to be right after Gotham's police force was locked away in the sewers trying to find Bane's hideout.

Even in private, Bane looked and sounded just like the video footage that was archived. He and Barsad planned out and assault on the holdouts in the utilities, and seamlessly parted to let a woman approach them.

Eames stopped cold at the sight of Mallorie Cobb.

No, it wasn't the destructive shade whose corpse he had seen in the fortress level of the Fischer job. This woman was steely and determined, whose eyes took in everything and assessed usefulness. She and Bane stood closely together and he appeared to listen to her point of view even more closely than Barsad's. His gaze on her was one of adoration, love and respect, as was her gaze on him. Whoever she was, she was more important to Bane than life itself, and Barsad's importance to Bane paled in comparison. Eames edged closer, taking in the graceful lines of her form and how Bane's massive body seemed to dwarf hers. She didn't fear him; if Bane was a sledgehammer, she was a blade. Each were deadly in their own ways, complimenting each other.

"They still trust in me," she was saying, accented voice cool and without emotional inflection. "I have what we need in place, but it's not yet time."

"They still cling to their illusions, my friend," Bane agreed. His touch on her wrist was at once possessive and supportive. "They have their creature comforts, still believe that they are civilized, still hope for their saviors. But the bat remains in the Pit and the huddled masses won't rise to defend themselves."

"They lack conviction," Barsad said with a deferent nod to the two of them.

"Precisely. And we mean to ensure that they will not regain it," she said. Her hand closed over Bane's, her touch deferent and tender, almost but not quite a lover's touch.

Bane looked to Barsad. "Are the bombs ready to be placed, then?"

"Of course," Barsad replied. He gestured to a map of Gotham on the table. Eames could clearly see the bomb locations as he pointed. "They are in the concrete already. Other triggers are here," he said, pointing at other locations in Gotham.

After Barsad left, Eames remained behind to observe Bane. He remained tender toward the woman, though it was only in the occasional touch and glance. The other men seemed almost indifferent to her presence, as if they couldn't even see her or they thought she didn't matter. He crept closer, listening to the cadence of his speech and taking in how he moved. After some time, Eames moved forward to address Bane after the woman left. He knew that this was no more than a projection, and it wasn't the real thing. Ariadne's work was too real here, which had been the point, but it was enough to draw out Eames' anxiety. Presenting himself as a new recruit, Eames asked after weapons caches that he would be able to get provisions from.

Bane's blue eyes narrowed as he took in Eames. It was like being under a laser, and Eames regretted drawing the attention of the projection. "You're not one of mine," he said finally, reaching out to grasp Eames' shoulder. His grip was painfully tight, grinding bone, muscle and tendon together. The muscles weren't all show; Eames could feel the power in Bane's grasp and knew that if he truly wanted to, Bane could shatter his shoulder right there. The eyes crinkled slightly, as if Bane was smiling beneath the mask. "You might be a brave one, to try to beard the lion in its den. But you will not save the masses this way, and you cannot save yourself."

"I'm new," Eames protested, clinging to the persona he had taken on for this dream.

"No. There are no new men here. You're not one of mine."

Eames' teeth rattled in his jaws as Bane shook him roughly. He may have grunted and tried to push Bane away, which was downright silly. The man was massively built to start with, rather like Eames' own large frame, but Bane had layers of thick muscle and deadly training. Eames couldn't hope to best this man in one to one combat. Stories from a year ago had said that the Batman had tried and failed, dying in the attempt. Eames could believe it.

"No," Bane said, amusement in his muffled tone. "You're not one of mine. But you will be."

***

Arthur didn't think anything of Eames' terse statements when he first woke up. They were too busy gathering up their things and vacating Arkham's medical wing before the sedative wore off and Barsad saw them. The plan was to part ways afterward, as Eames had already wired Arthur his payment for playing point. He had no idea where Arthur was headed once they split up, and he didn't care to find out. His own ticket back to Mombasa was waiting for him at his hotel room, and he clutched at it desperately as soon as he returned there. Something was nagging at him, something he had to remember. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was something that was very important.

There was an itching feeling in his mind, something crawling around beneath his skin. His body felt too small, too weak. His voice wasn't gravelly enough, his stare not piercing enough. He carried knowledge of many things, and he felt as if he was wrung out, twisted inside and pasted back together wrong.

Something was wrong, very wrong. Arthur didn't see it because they had parted too soon, had barely even spoken. But Eames could feel wrongness deep inside of him, a worm within his core that was poisoning him from the inside out.

He slept on the plane back to Mombasa. That was a rarity; usually he stayed wide awake to be sure that he wasn't followed, that no one caught on to the fact that he had just done an illegal job and that he carried secrets deep inside of his mind. Berenger wouldn't care how he did his job as long as it was done, as long as a weapons cache found its way into his hands. Rage bubbled up inside of Eames at being forced into this position, doing this goddamn job and having it driven home how much he had been beholden to that asshole.

 _But he will burn,_ Eames thought as he fell asleep. _You cannot steal from the League and hope to survive. They will know, and they will find him, and they will not forgive. He will die and the suffering will be proportional to the crime._

He didn't think he would suffer any less if his own complicity was discovered. If anything, he might be punished more severely.

His stance felt wrong as he walked through the airport to head to his flat. He called Berenger and gave him the information he sought. The gleeful satisfaction in Berenger's voice was grating and exacerbated that sense of wrongness in Eames' gut. He got off the phone as soon as he could, then went to his flat. There was someone in his bedroom, lying sprawled across his bed fast asleep. The figure was tiny in the massive bed, and the wrongness blossomed into outright fury that someone would invade his space this way. Someone breached his defenses, took over and sought to undermine everything that he was.

Without even thinking about it, his bag hit the floor and he moved rapidly to seize the sleeping figure on the bed. The thud of his bag startled the figure enough to start stirring but didn't fully bring her to wakefulness.

_Her._

Eames had her lifted up off of the bed by her throat, another hand at her soft underbelly as if he could thrust his palm straight through her. She made a slight choking sound as she woke, terror throwing her golden brown eyes wide. Her dark hair was a riotous tumble of loose curls and snarls, and she was in nothing but a simple nightshirt. She didn't look dangerous, but he knew that appearances were deceiving. "What are you doing here?" he snarled, his voice not quite low or menacing enough without a mask to deepening the tones.

She choked out something that sounded like "You invited me," but he couldn't be certain. He shifted his grip on her, so that he wound up with both of her delicate wrists held above her head in one hand, the other pinning her hip to the wall. "Eames," she gasped, terror still blowing her pupils wide. "Eames, it's me. You invited me. You asked me to stay here while you were gone, and I've been waiting for you."

Something shifted in his mind, like puzzle pieces being shaken in a box. It didn't quite settle into place, and there was still that odd sense of _wrong._

"I don't remember you," he growled, voice low. But then she made a soft, almost despairing noise, and the puzzle pieces shifted in his mind again. "Not exactly," he amended.

"The job you did. In Gotham City. Was it a success?" she ventured, tremors in her tone as she tried to appear brave.

Gotham City. _Of course._

Eames gave her a wicked, sinister smile that obviously didn't calm her nerves one bit. "Oh, yes, my dear. Yes. I got everything I needed and more."


	2. Exploration

Ariadne had gone from being dead asleep to utterly terrified in five seconds flat. Eames had her pressed up against the wall, her wrists caught up in one massive hand. She couldn't imagine why he was acting that way. She was sleeping in the room he had told her to stay in when he had left Mombasa four days before. She had only left the flat to spend time with Yusuf at his office to talk about dream share or to the markets for food. In the intervening hours, she had continued to work on aspects of her thesis that she didn't need to be in Paris to do.

"I don't remember you," he growled, voice low.

Ariadne made a low noise deep in her throat, and she wondered if he was about to kill her. For all of his prior talk of trust and how he wanted to explore a potential relationship, she was suddenly sure that the only thing that would come out of this association was death. All of her curiosity about dream share was going to get her killed

Something shifted in his gaze so that he no longer looked quite as violent. She still couldn't help but feel threatened, even with his soft "Not exactly."

"The job you did. In Gotham City. Was it a success?" she ventured, unable to hide the tremors in her voice. Perhaps she could distract him from whatever had happened that was making him react this way. _Something_ had to have happened in Gotham City, something that made it so that he didn't even recognize her anymore. Ariadne didn't know what that could be, but it had to have been devastating.

Eames gave her a wicked, sinister smile that didn't calm her one bit. "Oh, yes, my dear. Yes. I got everything I needed and more."

"What's that?" she asked, tremulous.

His body was pressed tightly against hers, allowing her to feel all of his taut muscle. Ariadne's breath was shallow as he shifted his footing. His free hand rose along the side of her torso, curling over her shoulders and then tracing the line of her throat. "You're important. I'd forgotten that. I lost sight of a good many things, and haven't followed my true purpose. I won't do that anymore, darling."

Ariadne shivered, looking up at Eames with large eyes. "What is your true purpose, then?"

"I have a grand and glorious purpose. There are great things to be done, associations to tighten, grand works to execute." She couldn't help but shiver again at the sound of _execute._ "I will take down the corrupt and unworthy, watch it all burn down and then something new and pure will rise again." He stroked her neck gently, eyes smoldering with a mixture of desire and possessiveness. "You're here because you will help me. You are one of the few in the world that can. And I mean that. It's not just a line."

"I believe you."

Neither statement was true.

He closed his lips around her earlobe and sucked gently as his hands slid along her collarbones, fingers dipping below the collar of her shirt. Ariadne held herself very still, not sure what was going on. The cadence of speech hadn't been his own, and neither was his accent. She didn't know enough about dream share or forging to even begin to guess why this was happening, but she could only guess that something had gone wrong during the job. Eames may have returned, but he wasn't entirely Eames anymore.

She shivered at his touch, but he was exceedingly gentle with her. "You're mine, aren't you?" he asked, fingers stroking the rise of her breasts. "Ariadne?"

She couldn't answer him right away. She didn't know what the right answer even was. Eames didn't like that, and moved to slant his mouth over hers. His kiss was punishing and full of need, his tongue pushing into her mouth when she gasped in outrage. She couldn't move him, but there was no sense of panic when she realized that. He wanted her in this crazed scheme of his, and he wouldn't harm her. Eames _needed_ her for some reason, and he was nearly shaking with it as he held her.

"You frighten me," she whispered brokenly when the kiss ended. "I don't know what you want."

The fragile sense that he needed her was confirmed at the stricken expression on his face. He was still hovering over her, her hands caught up in one of his large hands. "You are precious to me, Ariadne. That's why you're here. You're more important than you know."

"This is so confusing," she murmured, playing on the thread of innocence that he accepted. 

Eames kissed the top of her head tenderly. "We have great purpose, you and I. You know there are many cities that have grown corrupt and foul." His fingers stroked her skin gently, tracing circles and squares as he looked at her in anticipation. "You're an architect, darling. You build things to last, you know how to lay a foundation properly. And most importantly, you are so very dear to me."

Ariadne's stomach churned. She wasn't stupid, these were Bane's words.

Bringing his hands down her sides, he lifted her up by her waist and kissed her hungrily on the mouth, tongue licking into her. If she could completely divorce her senses from her mind, she could allow herself to be swallowed whole. She could drown in pure sensation, allow his touch to set her on fire. But this wasn't Eames anymore, not really. Bane was in there somewhere, rattling about in his head and twisting his perceptions. Eames' prior feelings for her were now something frightening and strange, making her skin crawl from the wrongness. "Eames," she managed to gasp as he mouthed her jaw.

He carried her to his bed, his massive body covering hers completely. "Yes, darling?"

"This is... too soon," she said, seizing on that feeble excuse. "You just got back..."

"I do not require much sleep," Eames told her, continuing to mouth the curve of her jaw. His breath tickled and made her shiver, and she could feel his lips curl into a sensual smile as he moved to kiss her neck. "You don't need to wake early in the morning, do you?"

"No, but..."

"Excellent." He kissed her again, possessive and intense. Shifting position, he settled between her spread thighs. Eames managed not to give her a smug smile at the shimmy and slight grimace on her face from the stretching. "Am I too large for you, then?"

"Your ego is," Ariadne snarked before she could stop herself, smacking his chest in irritation. It took another moment for her to realize that antagonizing someone embodying the ideals of the League of Shadows was likely a shortcut to being killed. She looked up at him in the awkward, precarious silence that followed.

But he only laughed, wrapping his arms around her and rolling over so that she was lying on top of him. Cheeks flushed, Ariadne looked down into Eames' pleased grin. For a dizzying moment, he looked like himself again, and she couldn't help but lean down and kiss him, her own touch feather light and exploratory. She had wanted to know who he was, what he was about, what things might be like between the two of them. Bane's shadow fell over them now, and anything she might learn was filtered through his experience in Barsad's mind.

Eames' hand trailed down her spine, then slipped beneath her nightshirt. He dragged it up and over the curve of her rear, then slid his fingers under the waistband of her panties. Tracing her sensitive skin, he pulled her hips flush against his as he deepened her tentative kiss. Ariadne tried to pull back a bit, not sure how far this was going to go. Then again, with his thick fingers tracing the bit of skin where her ass met the back of her thigh, odds were really good that he wanted things to go even farther. She wasn't entirely opposed, but this wasn't Eames, not really, and this felt wrong somehow. It was _off,_ just enough to give her pause and wonder if this was actual consent.

"Don't you want this as much as I do?" he asked, amused by the way she pulled back even though her nipples clearly tented the front of her nightshirt. Her lips were parted, her eyes dilated with desire. "Why hesitate?"

"You... We never even dated," she said lamely, shaking her head. Bad excuse, but what else did she have? Vague complaints that he wasn't acting like himself? Who was he anyway? Did she even know that for certain? He was a grifter and a thief, a forger of documents and identities, a man who seamlessly moved through personalities as if rifling through pages of a book. How much had she truly known about him before he had left for Gotham?

But her instincts were good, and they were telling her now not to trust this, to dig deeper into this situation as she had with Cobb. Something was _not right_ about this, and she couldn't feel comfortable until she knew what it was.

Eames snorted playfully, looking and sounding like himself, and she found herself smiling at him almost shyly. "Dates are for the ordinary. And you, my darling, are _extraordinary."_

"Flatterer."

"But of course." He reached up with one hand to cup a breast beneath her nightshirt. "Go on, take this off. Let me see you."

Her fingers shook a little as she drew the nightshirt over her head, and she felt almost silly. She was petite, with slight, almost boyish curves. She was somewhere between an A and B cup, tended to wear boy short underwear, and avoided frilly frou-frou dressy occasions whenever possible. Maybe she could consider herself pretty if she bothered to put up her hair or put on makeup, but all she saw in the mirror was a woman that looked younger than her age, someone that constantly second guessed her importance to others. Oh, she talked a good game and never let on how nervous or unsure she felt. It made her come across as confident or even arrogant, but deep down she kept wondering when the other shoe would drop and everyone would be able to see her for the helpless idiot she sometimes felt she was.

Eames' touch was gentle, almost reverent. "Beautiful," he murmured, running his fingertips across the skin of her breast. Then he followed the curve underneath the breast to trace a trail down to her navel, then into the waistband of her panties to feel the coarse curls between her legs. He could feel her shiver, and they both knew it wasn't from the cold.

"Eames..."

"You waited here for me, Ariadne," he told her, eyes boring into hers. "You wouldn't wait like this if you didn't want more."

"Well, no," she admitted after a moment. "I suppose I thought you'd wine and dine me."

"Oh, I fully intend to do that, too," he replied, giving her a wolfish grin. He slid his fingers further down into her panties, wrist cocked at an awkward angle. "Be a love and get rid of those, will you?"

"And what about your clothes?" she challenged without thinking.

That wolfish grin was still on his face. "Not to worry, darling. They'll be gone, too."

Her mouth was dry as she shifted position so that she wasn't straddling his waist any longer. She kept her eyes on him as she shimmied her panties down to her knees, then wriggled about to get them off. Eames watched her with ravenous eyes, then efficiently stripped off his own clothing. He held out a hand to her, beckoning for her to come back to his side.

It was an invitation and a threat at once, a promise that she would never be able to back out of.

Ariadne took his hand and let him guide her back to the bed.

Eames let her kneel beside him on the bed, her hands light as they traced the planes of his body, the muscle that usually was hidden beneath loud shirts and ill-fitting suits. She shivered as he traced her body as well, appreciation clear in his touch. It felt almost irreverent to talk, to distract herself from learning how he was built, what he felt like beneath her hands. She leaned down and kissed his stomach, loose tendrils of her hair brushing across his skin and making him sigh in pleasure. Growing bolder, Ariadne mouthed his skin and grasped his burgeoning cock in hand, fingers sliding over the length of him.

He outright groaned when she closed her mouth over his cock, sliding her tongue along the foreskin before using her lips to push it back enough to lick at the head. Eames sucked in a breath and let his fingers ghost over her thigh. After a moment his fingers slid across the front of her thigh until they reached her very center. He traced her folds as she licked along his length, teasing her opening until she was damp. It was odd to be so quiet, nothing but harsh gasps and little moaning sounds. There was no artifice that way, nothing to distract from the sensation of touch and teasing.

Ariadne tilted her hips and shifted her knees on the bed to give Eames better access as she kissed and licked his length, then moved so that she could run her lips along his balls. She closed her eyes and breathed the musky scent of him, wondering if she had well and truly lost her mind. This was happening, really happening, and couldn't help but wonder why she didn't feel more dismay. Eames was and wasn't himself. Was she taking advantage of him?

Fingers sliding into her sheath short circuited that thought. She was tight and wet around his blunt fingers, and her breath caught even as she sucked one of his balls into her mouth. "Oh," she murmured. "That feels good."

"Mmm. I rather hoped so," he replied, a smile in his voice. "You feel as good as you look, my dear," he added, eyelids heavy as he looked at her kneeling form.

Breath ghosting over the damp skin, Ariadne shot him an almost troubled look. It sounded ridiculous, but she didn't want this happening if it wasn't fully Eames in control. "Eames..."

"Darling," he said, steel beneath his husky voice. His fingers curled slightly then scissored inside of her, making her gasp at the sensation. "Don't be nervous. I'll take care of you. I'll always take care of you."

Though the intensity seemed to be more like Bane, the cadence of his words and the expression on his face was all Eames. It did help ease her mind, and Ariadne reached out to caress his cheek without thinking. He turned and caught a fingertip in between his full lips, sucking gently and tracing the pad with his tongue. She curled a fist around his cock and squeezed, making him smile indulgently at her. She couldn't help but lock eyes with him, watching his reaction as she stroked him and squeezed the fingers inside her. Ariadne watched as he let her fingers fall from his lips so that he could rise up slightly. He pulled her down so that their mouths met in a fevered kiss, and she tightened her grip on his cock when she lost her balance and nearly fell forward. He let out a little groan that wasn't exactly one of pain.

"Sorry!" she squeaked, pulling back and looking at him with large, startled eyes.

Eames gave her a wolfish grin. "I'm not."

Pulling his fingers from her, he licked them clean and watched her reaction. Ariadne's breath caught at the sight, her lips parted and eyes still wide and luminous in the half light. That same grin on his face, Eames moved forward in a deliciously menacing way before pushing her onto her back. Sprawled sideway across his bed, Ariadne propped herself up on her elbows to track his approach. They kept watching each other, gauging reactions, testing each other. She couldn't help but wonder if she was passing or failing.

Catching hold of her hips, Eames parted her legs and then bent his head between them to lick at her in earnest. She made a low moaning sound and pulled her legs a little wider to accommodate his shoulders, shifting her balance to one elbow so she could run her fingers through his hair. It felt dirty watching him go down on her, something she had never done with previous lovers if they bothered to do this. Somehow she couldn't look away from him, had to track his every movement. While she usually let her eyes fall shut and basked in sensory input, she couldn't do that now. _You belong to me, don't you?_ she thought dizzily, gasping as his tongue flicked against her clit before plunging deep inside. Whatever had happened to him in Gotham City, it only seemed to strengthen the tenuous tie they had before he left.

Her orgasm crashed into her before she could decide how to feel about that.

Eames didn't stop licking at her, and slid a finger inside her when he sucked at her clit. Ariadne bucked against his mouth and nearly howled in pleasure, her fingernails scratching at his scalp as she clutched at his hair. He chuckled as she twisted, back arching and breath coming in short gasps. Licking his lips he looked at her, eyes dancing in amusement. "Should I stop, darling?" he drawled, sounding exactly like the Eames Ariadne had known.

"Don't you dare," she hissed, pushing the back of his head back down. He complied readily, licking and pumping his fingers inside of her in a steady rhythm. She found herself begging for him to fuck her, only dimly aware of her pleading. When Eames' jaw ached, he continued with his fingers until her tense body seemed to dissolve into another orgasm.

He pushed into her then, stretching her legs wide and immediately making her gasp at the fullness of him. Eames laughed as he looked down on her splayed body, cheeks flushed and mouth dropped open in a strangled gasp for air. "Oh, yes. This is real."

It was an odd thing for him to say, but then he was driving into her at a rapid pace. Ariadne held onto him and ran her hands over his chest and arms, feeling the muscle flex beneath the skin. She couldn't even think under the intensity of his gaze, and it felt as if he would swallow her whole if he could. The sensation didn't feel as menacing as when he had her pinned to the wall, but more like a sense of possessiveness. Everything seemed to end too soon, and she looked up at Eames' relaxed and blissful expression as he came.

This was him, without question, but there were enough flashes of Bane to make her feel uncomfortable at times.

He pulled her close after he pulled out, tucking her firmly against his chest and holding her in place. That they were both sticky and sweaty didn't seem to matter. "This is where you belong," he murmured into her hair with that odd cadence to his words.

Ariadne shivered despite the heat radiating off of his body. She was going to have to figure out what the hell was going on before it progressed any further.

***

While Eames had "urgent business" somewhere in Mombasa, Ariadne scurried over to Yusuf's dream den as quickly as she could. He took one look at her expression and the joke he was about to make instantly disappeared. "What is it?"

"Eames is different. He's back in Mombasa now, just came back last night." She dropped into a chair beside his and absently glanced at one of his cats sidling up to her leg. Instead of giving it a stroke as she usually did while visiting Yusuf, she turned her golden brown eyes toward her friend, biting her lip. "He sounded like Bane and was almost acting like him," she admitted in a soft tone. For a moment, Ariadne almost felt as if saying the name might bring Eames toward her like a magnet. "It was frightening."

Yusuf folded his hands together and his brows furrowed as he thought. "I'm not a forger," he began slowly, obviously thinking furiously as he spoke to try to comfort her. "Not in any sense of the word, you must understand."

"I do. But you're also his friend. You've known him a long time."

"We're very good colleagues, not privy to each others' secrets. I do believe you've shown far more interest than he has, so you've uncovered a lot more in the few short months we've known each other in Paris than in the years I've known him before."

Ariadne wanted to roll her eyes and huff impatiently, but she had already learned the hard way that Yusuf often simply refused to be hurried. He would tell his stories at his own pace, and wouldn't rush to the finish just to satisfy her curiosity. "Because I'm interested in learning things and getting to the bottom of everything."

"Yes. And while I'm less obvious about it, Ariadne, I am the same way. But since I'm less obvious about it, my knowledge may be imperfect." He waited until she nodded that she understood. "A different forger once told me how difficult it could be sometimes to get the forges exactly right. Small mannerisms, phrasing of speech, that sort of thing. It's more than just an appearance. An entire personality and history must be replicated as well. For her, she felt that becoming the person she was trying to forge was the way to make it real for the subject, to take everything in and think, move, act and respond like the forge. This left her wide open for actually taking on mannerisms after the forge was complete, however. She called it character bleed, when parts of her forge came home with her, so to speak. Enough time as herself in between forges helped to minimize that, because she thought of it as damage to her psyche."

"So that's what's going on now? Character bleed? Eames brought home aspects of Bane's personality?" she asked, feeling as though that was a perfect explanation for why he couldn't recognize her at first.

"It could be. I don't know how common that is or if that's even how Eames does his forgery. I know he follows his targets and tries to observe them in their natural habitats, goes into their homes if he can to see the little details that he can use to craft his illusions once he's under in the dream. It's an art, he said, and I do believe that it is. So much of what we do is delicate and fragile, requiring a deft hand to bring it all together. We're artists, all of us, and so the process is always going to be a little bit different."

"But this makes sense, then," Ariadne murmured, looking at him with something like hope. "If it's just speech or how he holds himself, it should go away. Your friend was able to come back to herself and not be who she was forging herself as."

"Time is crucial, as is the knowledge that it's happening," Yusuf told her gently. "That's if this is even what's happening. I haven't seen Eames yet, and Arthur was point on that particular job. He might know something more."

Ariadne nodded at him. "Thank you, Yusuf. At least I don't have to worry about some kind of disaster happening."

"Oh, that doesn't mean this isn't a disaster," he chided her gently.

"Why? What happened to your friend?"

"She became the thing she was forging completely one day. My friend disappeared and never woke up again." He stood up and gave a sad smile when Ariadne gawked at him in surprise, mouth parting as if she wanted to say something but didn't know what would be appreciated at that time. "These things don't always end well, Ariadne. There are no guarantees when you work as far afield of the mainstream as we do."

"So what do I do?" she asked, standing as well.

Yusuf guided her to his door. "Be patient, and go back to Paris. Get your own life in order, complete your thesis. Figure out if you truly want to work in this field, without his influence or mine. This likely won't be the last complication with him."

"Are you warning me away from him?"

"You're my friend, Ariadne," Yusuf told her firmly. "I'd be a very poor one if I didn't at least make the attempt. He's dangerous on his own, and having Bane bleed through will only make him even more dangerous." He realized that she might not follow his advice, but at least he had given it. Ariadne had to make her own decisions and come to her own conclusions. "Think carefully about that. You were not part of any illegal activity before becoming part of the Fischer job, and I think Cobb gave you an inaccurate picture of what dream share might be."

"Like he never told us about the risk of limbo."

Yusuf winced. "I thought he would heed my warnings and tell you all individually. Looking back, I should have mentioned it at one of the planning meetings, but I was still trying to tailor the compounds to what we needed."

"It's a lot to keep track of," Ariadne said diplomatically as he opened the door.

Laughing softly, there was an almost sad edge to it. "Yes, sometimes. But it should serve as a warning to you: none of us can be trusted completely, even me."

With that in mind, Ariadne called Arthur as soon as she was back in Eames' apartment. He was still out for the day and wouldn't hear her discussing him. Once the usual pleasantries were made, Ariadne immediately asked his opinion of Eames after the job. Arthur was silent for a long moment. "We didn't really talk much. The idea was to do the job and get out as fast as possible to avoid detection. Why?"

"He got back acting like Bane and didn't recognize me," Ariadne told him. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging on it gently in frustration. "Has something like that ever happened before that you know of?"

"To Eames?"

"To anyone," Ariadne corrected, feeling as though her patience was worn thin. Arthur had always been a man made up of different layers of secrets, holding them so very close and keeping people at bay with them. During the six days they had on the first level of the Fischer job, Ariadne and Arthur talked about a lot of different things, including that kiss on the hotel level, but it never seemed to progress further than that. She had thought at first that he had more than professional interest in mind, but he had never really responded when she came onto him during those six days. He remained friendly and cared about her wellbeing when it seemed as though some of Fischer's projections were acting up, but he didn't cross that invisible line between them again.

She had been disappointed at the time, but now it was perhaps for the best. She didn't think Eames would appreciate any romantic interest from Arthur.

The pause on the other end of the line was long and awkward, making Ariadne almost think that Arthur wasn't going to answer. "There are a lot of secrets I can't openly discuss," Arthur said finally, reminding her of Yusuf's slow beginning not that long ago.

"I understand that. You don't need to name names for me, and I won't know who you're talking about since I've only worked on one job."

Arthur sighed at the frustrated tone in her voice. "Yes, but I wouldn't want to drag you further into this. You still have a chance to get out, have a normal life. You don't have to do this, Ariadne. The Fischer job went well, with no physical dangers. The same can't be said for the rest of dream share."

She thought of Eames' return, his hand on her throat and how he had pinned her to the wall of his apartment while she was still half asleep. "I know," she told him, voice grave. "Believe me, I'm well aware of what the risks can be."

That alerted him to the possibility of more she hadn't told him, but the knowledge that Eames had acted like Bane was enough to get Arthur's mind going. "How badly did he hurt you?" he asked, voice sharp in concern.

"He didn't, not like that." Ariadne closed her eyes and sighed. "It was just frightening to think he could change so fast, be someone else and not himself. So how often does that happen?"

"Ariadne, you need to back out of whatever job you're doing with Eames, then. I told him he shouldn't have called you. You shouldn't be involved, it's too dangerous."

"The chivalry's a little too late and a little misplaced," she said, understanding now why Arthur had never pressed his advantage on the first level. It didn't surprise her in the least that he and Eames had discussed her before she had flown to Mombasa. "I'd already told you I couldn't stay away. Too late for that now. I'm still at the edges of dream share."

Arthur heaved a pained sigh. He was silent for a long moment, and she could almost make out a faint tapping, as if his pen was beating a rhythm out along one of his Moleskines. "All right. I know of two other really good forgers. I don't pretend to understand how they do what they do, and I don't want to know. But one of them went insane and was institutionalized in Bonn, needing medications in order to function again. He can't ever forge and dropped out of dream share in order to stay sane. The rumor that went around at the time was that he became his target so fully that he lost his true identity. There was no recovering it, not until he had ECT and massive amounts of medication."

Ariadne was holding the phone with a tight grip, barely able to breathe. "Does that happen often, then? That sort of thing," she clarified, tongue tripping over the words in her horror.

What if Eames never truly recovered from this?

"I don't know. Forging like that is a rare talent. Most aren't that good and can't really fool the subject of the dream for very long." Arthur paused. "I can try to look into what happened, see what I missed in Gotham City. I don't like the idea of you near Eames if something like this happened to him. You have to stay safe."

Ariadne nodded even though he couldn't see her. "I fully intend to be," she assured him. "That's why I'm trying to figure out what I'm dealing with."

"Fair enough." Arthur's voice softened. "Just... Don't do what you did with Cobb, okay? He tolerated that because he always breaks the rules that most people keep. There's a reason why most in the field holds to those rules, though."

"I won't go digging around in his head," Ariadne promised. "It's just that Cobb constantly sounded like there was something dangerous he wasn't telling me, and no one else seemed to see it. I like you guys. I couldn't let something bad happen if I could stop it."

"Well, you coming along with us was probably what saved the entire job, so I'm glad you did. But whatever is going on now is far more dangerous, Ariadne. Do whatever you need to do in order to stay safe."

She froze at his concerned tone. "You think he's that dangerous?"

"I think if he became someone else, you need to be alert." Arthur paused. "It's the League of Shadows I'm concerned about. They are _very_ dangerous, Ariadne. I can't stress that enough, and they are not beholden to any nation. They're law unto themselves. I'll do what I can on my end to look into things and get back to you."

"Thank you, Arthur," Ariadne replied, relieved. "And you stay safe, too. Don't put yourself into danger for me, okay?"

Arthur chuckled. "Forever being protective? I'll be fine. I've had training for all sorts of dangerous scenarios."

But even after getting off the phone, Ariadne couldn't shake the feeling that she had set something into motion that she shouldn't have.

***  
***


	3. Establishing New Rules

Eames had Ariadne sleeping in his bedroom since his return and used his spare room as a gym. Equipment arrived and he spent hours at a time bulking up. He curled his lip in amusement when Ariadne hovered in the doorway, watching him almost warily. "Darling, you've been asking questions." His voice sing-songed almost dangerously, as if he was taunting her.

She could make it to the front door if she had to, and she had basic self defense training. She wasn't stupid enough to believe that either fact would be enough to stop him if he really wanted to harm her.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, hoping she sounded nonchalant. It had only been a week since her conversation with Yusuf and the phone call with Arthur. She had given no hint of either conversation, and this was the first time he had brought it up.

"You've been asking about forgers, my darling girl," Eames replied, mild reproach in his voice now. He carefully put his weight back on the overhead bar; Eames was bench pressing one hundred sixty pounds and still complaining that he was too weak, which Ariadne thought was fairly troubling. What was the real Bane like, then?

His smile was almost sinister as he looked at her, and Ariadne lifted her chin in defiance as she stared him down. The front door wasn't that far away and she was closer to it. She wouldn't show fear in this situation. That was probably the surest way to get herself killed.

He took her silence as the assent it was and merely chuckled. It was a confusing move, but Ariadne made sure that it didn't show on her face. "Ariadne, come here," he said, gesturing for her to come forward. She didn't move immediately, and he pursed his full lips. "Ariadne," he repeated, more steel in his tone. "Come here."

"You can't order me around like that," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. Her heart was thudding beneath her ribcage, feeling as though it would break. "I can hear you just fine from right here."

"Are you afraid, Ariadne?" he asked, low menace in his tone.

She gave a huff of impatience and leaned against the doorframe nonchalantly. "You're rather full of yourself today."

"You're afraid," Eames decided, an almost smug tilt to his lips and amusement dancing in his eyes. "But you needn't be afraid. Not of me, not of the others, not of my brother."

"Your brother?" she echoed, definitely confused. He had never talked about family before, and as far as she could tell he had cut ties with any relatives before entering dream share. It had been his own piece of advice to her before he had left for Gotham City, and Eames had never seemed to regret that decision.

"Bane," Eames replied. His tone was matter of fact, and he gave her an even look. "You're worried about what he and his men might do." He rose to his feet, striding toward her with confident steps. She thought of retreating but ultimately stayed still. She had to look confident, as if she wasn't as afraid of him as she truly was. Eames let his fingers rest gently on the curve of her cheek. "You fear the forgery was discovered, that Barsad might have talked about the things I would have discovered in his mind. But if he was so weak as to give away League secrets to one that was not of the Brotherhood, he is not worthy to draw breath. I know you've been asking about other forgers, what happens to them. You've set little tongues wagging here and there, and I've heard the whispers."

"What whispers?" she asked, throat closing in fear. Had she just condemned Yusuf and Arthur to Eames' uncertain and volatile temper?

"Why is an architect asking after forgery? Why is a student not even known in the field asking after older names, contacts long gone?" Eames' lips stretched into a smile that wasn't comforting in the slightest. Ariadne was acutely aware of the strength he possessed, of the glistening muscles in his chest and arms. She didn't know enough about him as Eames, let alone as Eames-that-thought-he-was-Bane.

"And what do you think?" she challenged, refusing to back down.

Eames chuckled. "Your concern is misplaced, little one." He let his fingers trail down and dropped his hands to her crossed arms. Gently untangling them, he let his fond gaze rake over her form. "Endearing, but misplaced."

"What do you mean?"

"It's unnecessary." He slid his hands around her ribcage, and Ariadne was certain he could feel her heart still thudding in her chest. "You don't need to talk to other men about what's going on. Just talk to me."

"Jealous?" she asked before she could stop herself, eyebrow lifted.

Now he laughed outright. "You belong to me. You can talk to whomever you like, but you belong with me." He pulled her flush against him. "There's no need to be worried, darling. I can take care of the both of us, and there isn't anyone alive stupid enough to make a move against me or mine." He dipped his head low to kiss her mouth, tongue sliding against the seam of her lips. They parted at the touch and his tongue slipped inside to tease hers. After a moment, he adjusted his stance and picked her up. Ariadne wrapped her arms and legs around him instinctively, not wanting to fall or crash into the doorframe. He carried her over a few steps, and soon enough the wall was at her back.

Ariadne gasped when he moved to kiss her jaw. "Eames," she murmured, not sure what to say.

"I protect what's mine," he murmured against her ear. He licked the lobe then pulled at the outer ring of cartilage with his lips. "You will always be safe."

Before she could think of a good enough answer, Eames slid a hand along her thigh. She could almost feel the heat of his touch through her jeans, and a low noise escaped her. He laughed a little before moving back to kiss her mouth. Ariadne clutched at his shoulders, nails scraping the bare skin. He growled with need, the sound of it melting her insides. She made soft noises and gasps as he nipped and kissed her, and she pulled back after a moment to tug impatiently at her shirt. He gave her a wicked, knowing grin before helping her, a thigh poised beneath her to help her keep balanced. She tossed the shirt aside and welcomed the feel of his lips against her chest and his hands at her waist.

Eames was content to kiss and fondle Ariadne again until she grew impatient. It was rather the same way with the models she built on her laptop; she couldn't simply sit by while the program rendered her design into three dimensions. She had to be in constant motion, had to do something with her free time. She had always been bad at being lazy, and it was an endless source of amusement for Eames.

"Are you just going to tease me, then?" she growled, running her hands over the planes of his chest and trying to shimmy against him.

"There is such a thing as savoring the moment, taking your time to truly appreciate exquisite pleasures," Eames replied, lips quirking into a smile.

He carried her to the bedroom, kissing her all the while. His steps were light and sure, even though he couldn't see the way. It was as if the dimensions of the apartment were memorized, and the length of his strides the means he had measured them. Eames didn't even stop to strip the rest of her clothes, and simply leaned into her on the bed. Ariadne was the one to start wriggling and pulling at her clothes, interrupting him. With an amused chuckle, he helped her take off their clothes, tossing them aside as unimportant. He bent his head to her breast, licking and suckling as he ran his hand across her stomach. She touched him wherever she could, nipping at whatever was in reach of her mouth.

Eames didn't let her continue, sliding down further until he was kneeling between her legs. He licked at her with soft, lazy strokes, until she was panting and begging for him to fuck her, please, she needed the release, it was driving her crazy to be waiting on the edge this way. Not saying a word, he turned her onto her stomach and lifted her hips to drive into her from behind. Ariadne grasped at the sheets, twisting and pulling at them as she gasped. She was tight around him, and he filled her completely with every stroke.

"Tell me what you want," he growled, sounding very much in control of himself. There was a pleased edge to his tone from seeing her nearly ready to fly apart under his hands. She was sure a primal part of him was satisfied by her response to him, that she couldn't quite make herself stop coming to his bed. She should leave, head back to Paris for her thesis defense, take herself out of this madness and ground herself in reality again.

But then she would be alone, and this _thing_ between them would always plague her. She cared for Eames, even if it wasn't exactly love, and she still wanted to be a part of dream share in some capacity. She was sure that what he felt for her wasn't love either, more like a possessive urge to conquer her spirit if he could.

"You," she managed to moan, twisting beneath him. She reached behind her with one hand to grasp at one of his thighs. "More, Eames, please..."

He growled and moved faster, and Ariadne let her eyes fall shut. Her hand slipped from his thigh and she reached between her own legs to stroke at her clit. She tensed and tightened, making mewling sounds until she came with a cry.

Eames didn't stop, and when she seemed to collapse bonelessly to the bed, he withdrew long enough to flip her over onto her back. There was an almost feral look to his eyes, something that would frighten her if she saw it at any other time. Pulling her legs up to his shoulders, he slid into her slick passage and moved hard and fast. She kept her eyes open, watching him as he fucked her ruthlessly, hands on her hips to keep her from wriggling too much or upsetting his rhythm. It was precise, as if he wanted to shatter her with pleasure before letting himself come. She whimpered as she reached up to touch him, scraping her nails across his skin. "Eames," Ariadne gasped, twisting slightly. Her legs fell from his shoulders and wrapped around his waist, so she moved her hands up his chest and reached for his arms. Pulling him down to her, she nearly chanted his name as if it was a talisman to bring that personality back.

He kissed her mouth, smiling against her lips. "This time, the pleasure is all yours," he murmured when he broke the kiss. He dropped another onto the tip of her nose and picked up his pace. "The next should be mine, hm?"

She was ready to promise him anything, but his forceful strokes pushed the breath right out of her so she couldn't reply. Eames slid a hand between their bodies to put pressure on her clit; with as fast as he was moving, he didn't really need to do much more than that, since his body was already angled to brush against it. Ariadne scraped her nails across his arms and side, throwing her head back as she gasped for breath. It was almost too much sensation, threatening to overwhelm her. She made a soft desperate noise, skating on the edge of pain from the pressure, but Eames didn't let up. Teeth grit, he was determined to have her come again. "I can't," she gasped, not sure what she was even going to say. Her thoughts were fractured. "Close, Eames, please, I can't..."

"Let go," he commanded, voice a rough, gravelly growl. "Give me what I want."

Helpless to do anything else, Ariadne gasped and came, shivering all the while. Eames pulled out abruptly then let go himself, spilling onto her stomach in spurts. She lay there limply as he retrieved his underwear and used that to wipe at her skin. Afterward, he hovered over her, eyes dark as he watched her. "You can rest now. There are still many things to be done."

Ariadne frowned when she woke alone in the massive bed a little while later. Wearing one of Eames' T shirts from his dresser, she found him sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop, maps and various spiral notebooks. His sloppy, cramped writing filled all the available space on the pages that were open for his view, and it looked as though several large cities were circled on the map of Europe. He didn't even look up as she came up behind him, sliding a hand across his shoulders. The writing looked to be notes about the character of the city throughout its history, crime rates and statistics about the effectiveness of its police forces. "What's all this?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer he would give her.

"Come now," Eames chided gently, eyes not wavering from the laptop or map. He turned to a blank page in one notebook and began writing. It looked as though he was studying the relative merits of Athens, weighing its history against the current economic climate. "You are an intelligent and creative woman. You can deduce exactly what I'm doing."

"You're studying European cities."

"Yes."

Ariadne swallowed. "You're picking a target."

Eames looked up, amusement etched into his features. "Some cities are simply too corrupt to survive. Gotham for certain is on the list, but I know my brother had set his sights on that city. It's the only reason he left Barsad behind alive. There is a plan there, my darling, and I don't need to alter it in the slightest. So I simply gather men and select a different target."

"What will you do?"

"Depends on the city and its circumstances. If I select Athens, for example," he murmured, tapping the notebook in front of him, "the wheels are already in motion. It's simply a matter of hastening its end. The populace is tearing itself apart over money, stupidity and the weight of excess. It won't take much to demolish the foundations and have the people start over again. The city is crumbling, Ariadne. All it takes is a little push in the right direction."

"Or effort to build it back up."

He laughed at her statement, pulling her close. "Spoken like a true architect. Balance is delicate, Ariadne. Like your namesake, your little thread can deliver me from the maze."

She was very still in his arms as he rested his forehead against her stomach. "So I'm to save you?" she asked quietly, winding her fingers through his hair.

"You question me all the time. You are nothing but challenge, but that's necessary to make sure a plan succeeds. A worthy second would find the weaknesses so that I may strengthen it, so that the ultimate objective will not fail." His fingers slid down to the small of her back, then slid down over the curve of her buttocks. "So you build, Ariadne. Build your dreams and plans and cities on solid bedrock, find the flaws and help me find my way." He looked up, and the expression on his face was at once rapt and vicious. "This is a sacred task, and I'm glad to have you by my side."

Shaken, Ariadne let her fingers trail down his cheeks. "That's too much, Eames. I can't..."

"Don't be afraid," Eames told her, eyes boring into hers. "You simply are who you are, and that's what I need."

"People will die if you do this," she told him, hand landing on his shoulder. Her fingers tightened into the muscle there. "This isn't right."

"They can begin again, a _tabula rasa._ It's a kindness to the human race as a whole. The evil and corrupt must fall so that humanity can rise. The rabble cannot be trusted to create a worthy civilization that can stand the test of time. Power corrupts, and so the shadows must topple the unworthy. Only then can you see the true beauty that humanity can be capable of. It's a necessary evil, but it serves a greater purpose."

"That's a monstrous thing to say," Ariadne snapped, pulling away from him. "That's not you, Eames. That's Bane talking."

Eames rose abruptly, knocking the chair aside as he did so. In half a step he caught her arm in one hand, yanking her back to face him. "Don't speak ill of the brotherhood, Ariadne." His voice was low and dangerous, sending a _frisson_ of fear down her spine. "Even monsters have their place in the world. Even monsters play a role in the grand scheme of things."

Gulping in fear, Ariadne set her jaw and stared at him. "You also said you wanted me to challenge you, Eames. So which is it? Do you want a challenger or a follower?"

His expression never wavered, and Ariadne wondered if she had crossed some kind of line with him. Would this be the thing that got him to snap?

She held very still as he wrapped one hand around her throat. It only served to underscore how small she was compared to him, how physically weaker she was, especially now that he was trying so hard to bulk up. "Some things you may challenge," Eames told her finally. "Some things are inviolate. I will proceed with my plans, Ariadne. I will have you at my side, and you _will_ help me."

"And if I don't?"

The smile on his face was chilling. "You're a brilliant woman, Ariadne. I don't think you would do something so foolish."

Ariadne fought the urge to run from the room when he let her go. He could tell she was afraid, and he would lose whatever respect he had for her if she ran. If she wasn't useful to him, she had no illusions about what her life expectancy would be. She knew far too much about him now, and he wouldn't let her live if she decided to leave. This wasn't the Eames she knew, but Arthur's and Yusuf's warnings about the realities of dream share were now coming to mind. This was not the kind of thing she knew how to deal with, and she couldn't even protect herself. Shooting Mal in the Fischer job had been possible because they were so far down in the dream and it was her strength of will that had made the shot fly true.

"If they don't like what you're doing, Eames, they will kill you. They will kill _us,"_ she corrected. "I won't be able to do a damn thing, and you're just one man. You can't stop them if they come after you."

The harsh lines of his expression softened, and he reached out to cup her face in his hands. "I told you, Ariadne. Your concern is misplaced. It's touching, but misplaced. They are brethren, our purpose the same. Your fears will not come to pass."

"You don't _know_ that for certain."

"I do. You must have faith, my dear. That will carry you through."

There was no reasoning with him, no breaking through the Bane overlay. Ariadne didn't know what else she could do.

***

If Yusuf regretted telling Ariadne to stop by and visit him at his shop any time, he had the grace enough not to say so to her face. He merely cleared space for her and one of her notebooks at a small desk in the corner of his office so that she could work somewhere that wasn't Eames' apartment or the library. She had few other places to go in Mombasa, and the only people she had met were through Yusuf and Eames.

He looked up one afternoon about two weeks after her attempt to reason with Eames. "Berenger is dead." His voice was conversational, as if merely talking about the unrelieved heat of the city or that his dreamers preferred the crispness of his chemicals to industrial grade somnacin. Yusuf didn't even seem disturbed when Ariadne dropped her notebook in shock and gaped at him.

"What happened?" she asked when he didn't continue.

Yusuf shrugged indifferently. "He stole a cache of weapons from the League as he planned to do and tried to sell them back to Bane. He was killed quite messily by all accounts, his allies gone to ground." He looked back at his ledgers and picked up his pencil as if it wasn't earthshaking news for her to hear. "I don't know why he expected any different. But I know you were concerned about Eames' involvement in that mess."

"He calls Bane his brother!"

Putting his pencil down, Yusuf looked up at Ariadne through his lashes, no change in his expression at all. "If there has been bleed through from his forge, he very well believes himself to be a member of the League of Shadows. They're a tight lot, beholden only to their leader and the ideals they stand for. We should be lucky he still counts us as friend, then."

Ariadne wanted to plead with him that this wasn't Eames and this wasn't right. They shouldn't simply accept that one man's personality was simply subsumed by another, especially since Eames had never been in Bane's head. His threatening demeanor loomed large in Ariadne's mind, however, and she couldn't quite force the words out of her mouth.

"Your thesis defense should be soon, isn't it? You've been here longer than you planned to, and your cheeks are pinked to a crisp," Yusuf pointed out. "It will be less intense for you if you return to Paris, give it time to heal over."

"I can't just leave him this way."

"He's capable of caring for himself, Ariadne," he reminded her gently. "He is capable of a great many things, not all of which you would be comfortable hearing about."

"Perhaps I should be," she replied tartly. "Since he's not letting me out of his life and obviously there's too much I don't know about him."

"Knowing the truth won't bring him back," he said with a helpless shrug. "Others have tried and failed that particular route."

Ariadne blinked, wondering why she hadn't thought of that before. "So? I still need to know what I'm getting myself into."

Yusuf shot her an almost pitying look. "There is no going back, Ariadne. The genie is out of the bottle and doesn't wish to be returned."

"Can't you tell me what this particular genie is like, then? If I know what I'm dealing with, what I can prepare for..."

"You can't," he told her, not unkindly. When she was about to retort something, he held up a hand to forestall her. "I don't even know everything about who he used to be. We weren't those kinds of friends. We were more colleagues than anything else. He didn't even know about the specifics of my den until he brought Cobb here. He never questioned my expertise and I didn't question his."

"But then what do you know about him? Hell, he never even told me a first name."

Chuckling, Yusuf nodded. "Yes, well, I've heard three different ones applied to him, so I doubt I can even help you there."

"It will give me a place to start."

"Have you _asked_ him?"

"Yes. And he changes the subject or distracts me to change the subject." Usually by kissing her soundly or pinning her to the wall to initiate sex, but she wasn't about to discuss that with Yusuf in any kind of detail.

Yusuf laughed again, then leaned back in his chair as he observed her. "I'm sure his methods of persuasion are quite pleasing." He laughed harder when she blushed. "Is that the real reason why you haven't left for Paris yet?"

"You are an awful, evil man," Ariadne said darkly, looking back at her notebook. "And here I thought you were a friend of mine."

"Of course I'm a friend! Which means I tell you the truth and laugh at your reluctance to leave his bed." He couldn't help but laugh as she sputtered and finally threw a pencil at him. He caught it and laid it flat on his desk. "I don't fault you for the choices you make, you know. You have to make decisions right for you, but you have to be sure you're making them for the right reasons. You don't owe him anything, he doesn't owe you anything. I don't hear things that sound like you're in love with him. If it's work referrals, I could do that for you."

"I suppose I feel almost responsible. Like I made the build _too_ good and he was trapped inside of it," Ariadne admitted.

He shook his head slowly. "As good as your builds are, as my chemicals may be, Eames has never been the type to forget that he's dreaming. If he got lost along the way, likely there was no other choice to be made. Sometimes you have to do ridiculous things to survive in the field. It's why I refuse to go out there most of the time."

"I know you said time helps, but he hasn't changed yet. Sometimes I think he won't," she said in a soft tone, as if admitting it aloud would make it true.

"It hasn't been that long. Give it time."

But she was afraid of what more time could do to him. What if there was nothing that could draw him back to himself? What if he was always stuck as this forbidding conglomerate of Eames and Bane? Ariadne couldn't picture a future with him like this.

Arthur was less hesitant to discuss what he knew about Eames, if only because it wasn't very much. He had looked into what little he knew, and wasn't entirely sure if he could trust the results of what he had found. He immediately understood that Ariadne wanted to find a hook to draw Eames forward, leaving Bane's shadow behind, and didn't discredit the attempt. It made her immediately suspicious that he wasn't telling her the whole story, but the tidbits he had at least were more than what Eames had told her before. She suspected it had to deal with the thesis she still had to defend, that she was only tangentially involved in dream share. "This is dangerous," he told her without sugar coating it. "People can be killed for less."

She thought of the soulless, heartless look in Eames' eyes at times and couldn't agree more. "I'm aware of what I'm doing, Arthur. I can't sit by and let something happen if I can stop it." He sighed in response, sounding almost crackly over the phone line. She wondered where he was, what he was putting on hold to help her with her half formed plan. Eames probably wouldn't like the thought of her digging into his background, but it was the only thing she could think of that would possibly work.

"I know," Arthur said finally. "Sometimes that works, but sometimes that backfires."

"I'll be careful," she promised. She had to be; she was living with Eames, and her continued existence depended on his goodwill.

"I'll look into things," he told her. "I pushed before, but never really all that hard. I didn't have to, because I didn't need to know back then. Eames is a consummate professional when it comes to his work, you understand. I needed to know if he would ever cut any underhanded deals that would put Cobb in prison. Once it was obvious that he wouldn't, there was no reason to keep digging for more background."

"Anything you have would be helpful. Even a first name."

Arthur chuckled. "How many has he given you?"

"None," Ariadne grumbled. "Apparently Yusuf has heard of three."

"Huh. I've gotten two and a few other aliases that might be his." Arthur sounded thoughtful and paused for a moment. "He doesn't know you're doing this."

"Well, no. I do plan on just asking him things, too."

"I'll see what I can do to help, but I may not be doing you any favors with this. It might not work, and that might only antagonize him."

"I've already promised to be careful. I will be."

Some of her irritation with Arthur must have come through, because he let out a frustrated noise. "You're far too stubborn to be reasoned with sometimes."

"You know that from the Fischer job."

"I suppose I do." He was quiet, as if weighing the words he planned to use next. "Know when to pull back and call it quits, Ariadne. There are other ways to get into dream share. He isn't the only one out there who can refer you."

"You haven't yet."

The accusation hit home, and Arthur sucked in a breath. "It was never my idea to recruit you in the first place. You're young, you can't defend yourself in this kind of world and you're far too idealistic to see what's happening around you." The words stung, and Ariadne bit her lip to keep from lashing out at him. "I would never put you in danger like this, and Eames shouldn't have called you to build for him. It was irresponsible of him."

"But I'm in it now," Ariadne said in quiet tones. "And I need to know what I'm dealing with so I _can_ survive. Hiding things and lying to me won't keep me safe. If anything, that will only guarantee that something bad will happen. I need to be prepared. I need to know what to look for and how to protect myself. You say you're not doing me any favors with getting me information, but it's worse if you don't."

Arthur waited a beat, then made a faint sound that was almost like his tongue clicking on his teeth. She remembered him doing that a lot as he thought quickly, because he always seemed to work best when in motion. He used to pace or balance his chair on back legs, wobbling in place if he couldn't walk around. "Let me tell you what I do know, and I'll find out more for you."

Ariadne listened intently, making mental notes of what she would clarify with Yusuf later or with Eames himself if she dared. She couldn't tell if the gaps in Arthur's knowledge were deliberate to try to protect her, or if he truly didn't know those facts.

When Eames returned that night, he was inordinately pleased about something he had done during the day. Ariadne put a hand to his chest to hold him somewhat at bay; she recognized the almost predatory look in his eye, and knew that he would press her into the wall or have her flat on her back in no time. "I'm still a little sore from this morning," she started, seeing him smirk at the words. "Why don't _I_ take the lead instead of you for a change?"

Delighted, he let her manhandle him toward the bedroom and pull his shirt halfway down his arms, effectively restraining him from touching her. "Ah. So is this something you enjoy?" he asked, eyebrow lofted in amused inquiry.

"I may have entertained thoughts," Ariadne began, leaning into his personal space to rub her clothed chest to his bared one. She flicked her tongue against his earlobe. "And you know I've been on my computer a lot lately."

"Mmm. Yes, you have. Not all of it has been for your thesis."

"No, that's pretty much done. I have my defense next month, so I'll need to leave for Paris soon," she murmured as she ran her nails along his shoulders and upper arms.

"Of course." He turned his head to nip at her shoulder. "I'll miss you."

Ariadne's breath caught, and she leaned backward to look at him. "Yes, I guess you will." She gave him a shove to indicate he should fall backward onto the bed. He gave her an indulgent smile, watching as she moved to kiss and nip at his chest. "I'll miss you, too," she murmured, looking up at him through her lashes. She would, she was honest about that much, but truth be told on some days she missed him already. Eames didn't always behave like the man she had met in Paris, and the flirtation now carried an edge of subtle threat at times. It wasn't a threat for her, per se, but an air of menace he couldn't quite shake even when he was trying to be gentle.

Neither mentioned the word love. She wasn't stupid enough to ask about that or make him think she loved him. What she felt was very different and a lot more complicated.

Kissing and licking her way down his abdomen, she unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers before pulling them off and tossing them onto the floor somewhere behind her. His underwear and socks went next, leaving him bare before her. Eames watched her silently, gaze avid and assessing. Ariadne made a big show of undressing herself, moving slowly and keeping out of reach. "Should I just tie you up?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"You can try it, darling, but I'll slip any knot you make."

"You're absolutely certain."

"No one's been able to hold me if I don't want to be held."

Understatement of the century, she was sure, but she kept a slight smile on her face and stayed out of reach. "Well, _I_ want you to stay still for this."

Eames quirked an eyebrow at her and didn't try to shrug off the shirt pinning his arms to his sides. "Well, then. Do your worst. I certainly won't stop you."

She wasn't an innocent, not the way he seemed to think she was. She had boyfriends before, though she wasn't much for random hookups and certainly wasn't any kind of femme fatale. Glad that he wasn't going to undermine her, Ariadne stripped off her clothes and tossed them aside as well. She fully intended to play up the "I was looking at things on the internet" angle if he asked, since that would explain all the times she kept it away from him to look into whatever clues she had found for his past. There had to be something she could find to bring him back to himself. She refused to believe that Eames would be lost to Bane bleeding through from a forge.

"You can look, but you can't touch," she told him firmly, letting one hand slide down between her legs. The other moved up to cup one of her breasts, and she thumbed her own nipple. "Think you can do that?"

The hungry expression was back in his eyes, but he lay very still and nodded. "Yes."

It felt silly to be doing this while he watched her, but Ariadne pushed that away. She moved her hand around a bit, then put her left foot up on the bed for better access. Eames sucked in a breath at that, moving his gaze directly to her exposed groin. "Remember," she told him, a throaty edge to her voice. "No touching."

"Oh, I remember, darling. I remember _everything."_

Ariadne licked her lips and worked at herself, watching his reaction to what she was doing. The awkward sensation fled as she took in his rapt gaze, the way his cock swelled at the sight of her fingers sliding in and out of her growing wetness. She heard the blood rushing through her ears, and she gave him a smile she hoped looked confident. "You want to be inside me, don't you?" she taunted. "Where my fingers are? You want to touch me here, taste me, feel it as I fuck myself on you?" Her breath caught as she spoke; she'd never been good at dirty talk before, but this seemed to be working. Eames had to clench his hands into fists to keep them at his side, and he bit his lip as he watched her. Ariadne plunged her fingers deeper, curling them and moving faster now that she getting more into it. "Because I want you there," she told him, voice fracturing a little. "I want that, I want to feel you in me." He let out a little rasping noise that sent her insides melting with desire.

"Just keep that up, Ariadne," he growled. "I'll be ready for you."

Yes, he was already getting there, but that wasn't her intention. She doubted that he would give her many opportunities to take control, so she would have to make it worth his while. Simply giving in right away wouldn't do that.

"Oh, no, Eames, that won't do. Not yet." She cocked her head to the side, watching him as she kept stroking her clit with her thumb as she pumped her fingers in and out. "Mmm. I need something other than Eames to call you. Not sexy to think of last names right now." She reached out with her other hand and touched his chest, scraping at his flat nipple with her fingernails a little. He jerked at the contact, licking the lower lip he had bitten.

His breathing was ragged, and she could see him visibly try not to touch her. "But..."

"What name should I call out when I come?" she asked, clenching down around her own fingers.

Ariadne didn't know if he actually told her his real name, but it matched the one that both Arthur and Yusuf knew. She kept her eyes locked to his as she worked herself further toward orgasm, nails scratching at his chest. He liked the contact, and he let out a groan when she threw her head back as she came. She had enough presence of mind to whimper out his name, and Eames made a soft and needy sound in response. He didn't touch her, though it was obvious he desperately wanted to. Ariadne sagged against him, smiling a little, then pulled her slick fingers out. "You did well. Here's a reward." Eames licked her proffered fingers, and Ariadne did her best to clamber up onto the bed beside him with one hand occupied.

She hadn't said he couldn't buck up against her, and he twitched every time her wet slit dragged across his skin. She couldn't help but grin at him, feeling hot and a little silly at once. Didn't he know she wasn't any kind of sexpot? But his response was definitely making her feel like one, which spurred her on.

Pulling her fingers out of his mouth, she slid them down his chest as she picked up nipping at his lower abdomen. This time she had his erect cock bobbing up against her stomach and then her chest, and she rubbed her breasts against him. Eames let out a low groan, hands curling into even tighter fists. Ariadne moved so that she could lick at the underside of his cock, then she mouthed his balls as she pushed his legs up and out of her way. He bent his knees and pulled them in close to his chest. She caressed the backs of his thighs, occasionally scratching at his skin with her nails. Lightly scraping at the skin with her teeth, Ariadne paid attention to which areas seemed to be the most sensitive. He liked the feel of her lips or tongue, and even the occasional nip with her teeth made him growl with need.

Without thinking about what she doing, she edged her face lower still and licked at his perineum and then the outer edge of his anus. Eames hissed in pleasure, so Ariadne repeated the move. Other than feeling as though she was drowning in his musky scent, there was no real difference in licking him there. She couldn't detect any change in the taste of his skin, and it seemed to be fairly sensitive to her tongue strokes.

"Fuck," he finally ground out, hips rocking a little. "Jesus Christ, Ariadne, whatever you've been reading, I wholeheartedly approve of every filthy little bit of it."

She grinned as she moved to lick and nip at the side of one thigh. "So glad I have your approval," she purred, scratching at his other thigh. "But today I'm not looking for it."

Slipping her fingers inside herself, she brought them to his rear entrance and teased the hole. Her nails were generally short, so she didn't worry about scratching Eames in any areas. It took a few times before she thought the skin was slick enough to start sliding a finger inside, and she made sure to lick and nip at his balls or cock while she teased him. Eames made soft sounds, and looking up from her kneeling position, Ariadne could see his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth buried deep in his lush lower lip. "You look good like this," she said, breath ghosting over the moist skin around his cock. "You're just about ready to beg me, aren't you?" She had her entire finger inside him now, and she stroked him from the inside out as if she was masturbating. He let out a soft keening sound at one point, so she stroked that spot again. "I won't fuck you until you beg me for it," she said, voice low.

"Ariadne, you're a cruel woman sometimes," he managed to gasp out, opening his eyes to look at her in wonder.

He sounded like himself, and Ariadne's heart sang. She grinned at him as she moved her finger in steady strokes. "That doesn't sound like begging," she teased.

Eames took a steadying breath. "I haven't begged for anything in my entire life."

"I don't doubt that," she replied. She took a long, leisurely lick along the length of his cock. "But then, this is as close as you get to me fucking you if you don't."

He growled and yanked his arms in his shirt, tearing the sleeves. Ariadne moved, stumbling backward and nearly falling over the edge of the bed. She pulled at one torn sleeve and made a big show of wiping her fingers without looking at him. "Oh well," she said nonchalantly, as if her heart wasn't hammering inside of her chest. "Guess you don't get anything else."

Something flashed in his eyes, and she felt almost uncertain about what she was doing. Was he going to get violent? Would she even live to regret this?

"Ariadne," Eames began, voice thick and pained. He maneuvered himself in front of her, then dropped to his knees. "Please," he whispered. His eyes were wide and for a startling moment Ariadne was reminded of the expression on his face when he talked about limbo during the Fischer job. "Please," he repeated.

She pulled him up until his mouth was in line with hers. She kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth and wrapping one hand around the back of his head. Scratching at his scalp, Ariadne felt his hands come to rest lightly on her hips. "On the bed," she commanded sharply when she broke the kiss. The relief in his eyes was palpable, something that looked more like the Eames she remembered.

Ariadne stroked him gently and then positioned herself over him. It was a tight fit, but she worked her way slowly down over his length. That was a merciless way to tease him, too, and the moment she said "You can touch me now" his hands went straight to her hips to pull her down hard on top of him. She gasped at the feeling of fullness, at the stretch between her thighs and the desperate pull of his hands. His name was a soft murmur on her lips, enough to make him shudder as he looked at her.

Eames collapsed beneath her when he came, breathing labored and eyes screwed shut. She draped her body over his and struggled to breathe herself. Whatever this was, it hadn't been what she had expected at all.

***

Arthur's inquiries were not as subtle as he thought they were. It would have been incredibly difficult not to stumble across League of Shadows members, but he hadn't realized just how far flung the organization truly was. They didn't know him or his involvement, as he covered his tracks very well. Even if the League didn't know _who_ was looking into their affairs, it still alerted them that someone could be interfering with their plans.

Bane's eyes narrowed at the subordinate that brought him news of various inquiries into League business. "Where do the whispers center?" he asked.

"Mombasa," the subordinate replied.

That was where Berenger had been from, and the man wasn't clever enough to figure out where League weapons caches were kept without help.

"Time to explore the city again," Bane decided. "Brothers, we do have some sympathizers and compatriots there, particularly Old Town. Be alert for new elements that would undo the hard work we have put into maintaining the players there." He brought his hands together and smiled icily behind his mask. "They will not be allowed to continue."

***  
***


	4. Marking Territory

Yusuf prided himself on being aware of the rhythms of Mombasa and the various underworld syndicates. He didn't favor any groups over others and let it be known that his primary concern had always been his lab. Fewer people were aware of the dreaming den; the ten men dreaming away had been carefully vetted long before he even offered the possibility. He knew Isak would never reveal the den, and carefully watched over the dreamers during the day. He had his reasons to do so, and Yusuf would never reveal them. Isak was very conscientious and diligent, which was what he needed.

He heard whispers about the League of Shadows moving into Kenya, hunting for whoever may have wronged them. Yusuf assumed it was Berenger that the whispers were about and made no changes in his routine. He went to the market, did his laundry, brewed the chemical compounds he needed to make for outstanding orders.

When there was a stranger standing in his doorway with dark eyes hinting at a darker soul behind it, Yusuf knew immediately it was a League man. "Brother," he said as greeting, nodding and gesturing toward his door with the package he was carrying. "Since your hands are available, can you open the door for me?" The man obliged and followed Yusuf into his shop.

Once his packages were settled, Yusuf offered tea as was his custom, which the man refused. "So how may I be of service? Are there compounds your brothers need?"

He paused. "You are a friend to the League. The venom you continue to craft for our use is invaluable," the man admitted.

"Glad to be of service," Yusuf replied in neutral tones when the man paused again. "Do you have need of more?"

"Yes, we do." There was another long pause. "There was a man, not local, but recently from here, who sought to profit unseemingly from the Brotherhood."

"Ah," Yusuf murmured sagely. "Terrible mischief."

"He had uncanny knowledge of our dealings."

"I heard Berenger planned to trade with one of your number and thought him a fool for it," Yusuf told him. "I also heard he was killed for the trouble."

The man stared at Yusuf with his dark soulless eyes. Yusuf returned the stare despite feeling a shiver roll down his spine. "Yes, he was. Most fittingly."

"Well, the League must patrol its own affairs," Yusuf replied evenly. "If a fool wishes to throw his life away, I'm not one to aid or stop him. Unless he wishes to purchase compounds. Those could aid or stop a man, but I don't ask what becomes of the supply once it's been purchased. They no longer belong to me, and become tools to whoever did the purchasing."

The man looked at Yusuf for a long time, weighing his words. Finally he gave a sharp nod of acceptance. "Such is truth. This is why you are friend to the League. True neutrals are difficult to find and maintain."

"I intend to stay that way, brother."

He nodded again. "Just so," he agreed. "Standard shipment, then. Shall we expect the doses in the usual amount of time?"

Yusuf thought of the number of vials he had left in his shop. He wasn't expecting an order request for a few weeks yet, and hadn't put in his standard orders with his favorite glassware distributors. "If not the usual amount of time, perhaps a day or so later. I may be low on components, and I do believe I don't have enough vials to complete the order."

The man in black nodded, then peeled several bills off of a roll in his pocket. The total was easily half of the usual payment for the venom. "This should help expedite matters. The normal payment will arrive when we get the venom we need."

"Very good," Yusuf said with a slight bob of his head. "I'll go procure the necessary ingredients right away."

The League member let himself out of Yusuf's shop, and he sank into a chair afterward. He had always let it be known he was neutral. He wanted no part in any crime war and didn't want to be involved past his own chemical creations. It never occurred to him that he would be doubted, that his life would hang in the balance.

Then he thought of Eames, and poor Ariadne caught in his troubled wake.

All he could do was warn her and pray for their souls.

***

Eames returned home after putting out feelers for a strike team. He would never bring Ariadne with him to Athens and he didn't think Arthur's skill set would work well for razing a city to the ground. He liked how attentive Ariadne was being, hanging onto his stories over the past two or three weeks. She would have to leave for Paris to defend her thesis soon, and Eames would have to let her go. He wasn't looking forward to it, and not just because he liked having her in his bed. That was certainly enjoyable, and she put in the effort to please him in multiple ways. He had found the dog eared kama sutra she had purchased, lips twitching in amusement as he took in the post-it notes with her comments carefully printed on them. Eames thought of putting his own comments in the margins, but replaced it in her hiding place. He liked the thought of her wanting to impress and pleasure him, wanting to keep a place with him.

Her place was secure of course, but it was nice to know how much effort she was putting in to staying there.

This wasn't to say that he didn't exert similar effort toward pleasing her. As often as she took the lead in bed, pushing him down and taking him into her mouth, Eames also hovered over her sprawled body and teased her near to madness. He had memorized all her secret, soft places, cataloguing the sound of her sighs and moans. He liked the influence that he held over her at those moments. There was satisfaction in knowing that her pleasure came from his lips and hands and tongue, that her body molded to his without even a flicker of fear or restraint. At times she seemed almost reluctant to touch him, as if somehow she was still shy around him. That only endeared her to him more, and Eames was sure that no one else had the power to break down her defenses and render her speechless with as much ease as he could.

Ariadne belonged to him; there was no good way to explain in words the driving need that he had for her. She didn't love him, not in any conventional sense; he knew that and wasn't bothered by that fact in the slightest. What he felt for her wasn't love either, but something far more intense and essential for his wellbeing. Love was too paltry and childish a word to describe the emotion that drove him. Ariadne was his, body and soul, and nothing she or anyone did would ever change that. Even leaving for Paris wouldn't mitigate that fact. If she fell in love with someone else, Eames might even be persuaded to allow that alliance, as long as she understood her place in his life.

Eames powered on her laptop. She had been on it more often recently, and he doubted it was to check for more erotic suggestions or inspiration. Ariadne might not have been aware of it, but there had been subtle tension in the set of her shoulders, a distance in her eyes and the downward cast to her mouth. He was well versed in these subtleties, and he knew that it meant she was keeping a secret from him.

Ariadne was important to him, but he was neither blind nor stupid. She was young and very inexperienced in the world that he lived in. Eames was aware that in her ignorance she could be easily swayed and deluded, and he would have to correct her errors. Ariadne might not love him, but she did care for him very much. She would never harm him intentionally.

It was the unintentional harm that she could do that mattered.

Quickly moving through her browser history, saved tabs, bookmarks, documents and e-mails, Eames had a very good picture of her online activities. Interspersed with discussion about her thesis, travel plans and queries about local cuisine or tourist attractions, Ariadne was also collecting information about Eames' background. He had no difficulty in trawling through her deleted files, finding even more queries and gathered bits of information about him. Much of it was suppressed and there was quite a lot of innuendo and misinformation in the dream share world about him and the origin of his skills. Few people knew anything accurate, and he had always liked it that way. Arthur and Yusuf seemed to be supplying some detail, and through them she had met a number of his old contacts online to gather information.

 _I'm concerned for him,_ she wrote to Arthur. _This isn't the same man I met in Paris, even though I can't explain it. Sometimes I see him, and at other times I see someone completely different. He frightens me, that other man. I don't know how else to bring Eames back, but it doesn't seem to be working so far._

"Ah, Ariadne, you poor innocent," Eames murmured, looking through her e-mails.

She would have to be taught that there were repercussions for going behind his back this way.

***

Ariadne returned to Eames' flat from the market. It was quiet, but Eames had said he would be out for the day, so she didn't think anything of it. She hummed along with the song on her Ipod as she put everything away, swaying a bit. After a moment the humming turned into discordant singing, her eyes closed a little as she belted out the chorus.

She shrieked when a hand closed over her shoulder. She clawed at the hand and whirled around, bringing up her other hand to connect with the attacker's throat. At least, that was the plan.

Eames easily dodged her attack, and he held her arms above her head with one of his. It made her feel even more tiny and helpless, and a spark of true fear wound its way into her heart. The look he gave her was somewhat indulgent, but there was still a darkness beneath that which gave her pause. He was amused, but it was not likely to be the sort of amusement that led to fun things or little jokes between the two of them. This was the sort of amusement that someone took in the destruction of an enemy, and Ariadne managed not to cry out in dismay or terror at the look in his eyes. He was judging her, and she knew he found her wanting.

"You scared me," she gasped, dangling above the floor.

"I know," he replied blandly. "That was rather the point."

"What's going on, Eames? Put me down."

"I have your attention this way," he replied, no inflection to his tone. "You tell me what you've been doing online, Ariadne." His face was right in front of hers, and his blue eyes were suddenly cold. "You've been asking questions. Very interesting questions with dangerous answers that are not your place to ask." He nodded when she blanched. "I told you not to do this."

"I've been worried about you," she replied, her eyes wide. "You're not yourself—"

"Did you really think you could know me?" he asked, voice sounding cool and collected. That wasn't comforting, however. She wasn't stupid, and there was nothing she could do to stop him if he truly wanted to harm her.

She whispered the name he had been given at birth, which didn't seem to have any impact. She had tried planting reminders of his childhood around the apartment. There hadn't been any appreciable difference with that either, and the only thing that seemed to keep him calm was her presence nearby. That had to mean something, if only she could figure it out.

"You belong to me, Ariadne," he said in a matter of fact tone. It was almost as if he could hear her troubled thoughts. "Your actions were not with my approval, and you must be punished for disobeying me."

Her golden eyes were wide with fear. "What are you going to do?"

His smile did nothing to calm her nerves. "Don't you trust me, darling?"

"Not anymore," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I want to, but I can't." She wanted to say "I trust you," but that would be a lie. She was sick of lies, of living in shadows, of wondering when Bane would look out of his eyes.

"I told you, Ariadne," he said, walking toward the bedroom, still holding her above the floor by her wrists. He didn't seem affected by her words at all. "You are mine, and I am in control. You must accept this."

"Eames," she whispered, her throat closing up tight. "I just needed to know more, I'm not trying to hurt you."

"Yes, you did the same with Cobb, did you not? Justified it by saying it was for the good of the team. And it was, so this only emboldened you to go further. Hm? Isn't that so?" he asked, bringing her to the bed. He laid her down and moved over her, straddling her waist and making her feel utterly helpless beneath his bulk.

"You're scaring me," she said in a quiet voice, hoping she could get through to him. He was simply staring down at her, his face an unreadable mask. Pulling her hands didn't even move him, leaving her still pinned.

It would be hot if she wasn't also terrified of what he might be thinking.

"Eames," she said, sensing that his birth name would only make him even angrier. She had found out more than she thought she would. His birth father had walked out on his mother before he was even born, and there was no other family but her. Eames had grown up on an estate in England, did poorly at school due to lack of interest and enlisted in the army to avoid local gangs. That hadn't worked out well at all, and there were sealed records Arthur hadn't been able to dig up. He had left the army and stumbled into dream share; Ariadne couldn't imagine what he had to do in order to be the best forger in the business. She was an utter novice at illegal activity, and dream share still didn't feel like something dangerous.

Instead of answering her, Eames leaned over her and then tied her hands to the headboard. She tried struggling at first, but there was no budging him. "What are you going to do?" she whimpered when he reached for a knife.

"Do you really think I would hurt you?" he asked quietly, pain in his voice. His eyes shifted slightly, and he looked less like a murderous thug and more like the Eames she knew.

"I don't know anymore. I don't know you. You're scaring me, you've _been_ scaring me. I had to start looking into who you were. I wanted to bring you back, so you could be the man I remember. I don't know what else to do."

"I know. I looked through your e-mails, at what you were able to gather about the older versions of me." His expression shifted again, slipping into something more like a neutral mask. Ariadne hated it. "I told you," he said in quiet tones, the edge of the knife touching her arm. There was no expression on his face now, none at all, and she didn't know if she was dealing with Eames, Bane or some frightening mix of the two. "I'm in control of the situation, Ariadne. It isn't your place to question what I do or how I do it. This isn't your world, darling. You build things, but you don't know about the darkness that lies just beneath the surface of dreams. You don't see the corruption that exists, don't know how to purge it from the world. For a time I thought you might see that, but I don't think you really understand it, do you?" He paused, but he wasn't truly expecting an answer.

"You're precious to me, Ariadne," Eames said, and there was something in his voice that sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't a threat, and she couldn't explain the feeling in words. He wasn't menacing or angry, but it was the fact that she didn't know what she was dealing with that frightened her the most.

If he wasn't going to kill her and he wasn't angry with her, why did he tie her up? What was he planning to do with her?

"My devotion doesn't make me blind," he continued slowly, the knife moving along the rise of her chest, over her clothes. It took a moment for her to realize that he was slicing through the fabric. "You disobeyed me, Ariadne. I cannot have that, not if I am to guarantee your safety." He brought the knife further down, cutting into the rest of her clothing. "You see," he continued, voice an almost jaunty approximation of Eames' old cadence. "I know what I'm doing, what needs to be done. You don't. You stumble and falter, and before you know it, you'll make a fatal error somewhere, and I won't be there to save you. I gather you don't like the idea of needing to be saved, but there you have it. You don't know enough about this world to survive in it. I gave you rules for a reason, and they exist for your protection."

Ariadne couldn't speak, and simply watched him with a feeling of dread in her stomach. She winced when he ripped her clothes apart, then tried to twist out from under him. Eames placed the knife on the bedside table and placed his hand on her stomach. "Eames," she whispered, looking at him with a pleading expression.

"You need to be punished," he said, a gleam in his eye as he contemplated her. "But I won't hurt you. I never could. But kindness? That can hurt just as much as pain can."

"What are you talking about?"

He removed strips of her ruined clothing, making her flinch at the sound of ripping fabric. He tied it around her head, following her as she tried to jerk and move. Frustrated, he finally held her head in his hands firmly and bent over to whisper in her ear. "You're _mine,_ Ariadne. Love is too feeble a word for this, and it's high time you understood this."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, lips trembling. She tried pulling at her bound wrists, but that only seemed to pull the knots tighter.

She jerked when he let her go and climbed off of the bed. "Eames?" she asked when he fell silent. She could just barely make out the sound of cloth rustling, as if he was undressing, and she turned toward it. "Eames?" she asked a little louder.

"So eager for your punishment, darling?" he asked, his voice closer than she thought it would be.

Ariadne blinked beneath the blindfold, turning toward the sound of his voice. "I can't see you," she murmured in a soft voice. "What are you going to do?"

"Whatever I want to do, darling," he murmured, voice coming from somewhere near her midsection. She jerked when his lips brushed across her abdomen. "You can't stop me, and you can't see me. But you'll feel me. Oh, you'll feel me. It'll be that much more intense for you now, and I know all the places you like."

Her cheeks were flaming, and her insides seemed to melt with want. "But—"

"Where's the punishment?" he asked, voice lilting in amusement.

"Yeah. How is that a punishment?"

"Who said anything about letting you come?" Eames asked, breath warm against her navel.

Ariadne shivered at the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath on her skin. She didn't know where he was, exactly, and she felt chilled despite the Kenyan heat. She gasped when his mouth came down over a breast, licking and teasing the nipple. He had endless patience with this, and continued for a longer amount of time than usual. She shifted restlessly beneath his mouth, feeling her desire mounting. He knew what she liked by now, and Ariadne could feel Eames smiling against her breast as she moaned. Part of her wanted to curse at him for doing this, and another part wanted to beg him to fuck her _now._

Eames continued licking and sucking at her until her skin felt almost numb from overexposure and constant touch. When he realized that she wasn't moaning as much, he switched breasts and started all over again, fingers skimming across her hips and stomach. He only touched her lightly, soft strokes that didn't really distract from the sensation of his mouth on her breast, his tongue laving the nipple. He had always been generous with his attention before, but now this was at ridiculous levels.

When that breast seemed to grow insensitive, he moved to kiss and lick at her skin, moving around her entire torso and stomach. Ariadne squirmed and wriggled, trying to get some friction between her legs where she wanted it most. Eames chuckled and moved away, the bastard, then laid featherlight touches across her inner thigh. "Too bad this isn't enough to make you come."

"Eames," Ariadne began, a slight whine to her voice.

He surged up and clasped her face in his hands. He kissed her thoroughly, tongue in her mouth and licking into it with an intensity that left her breathless. She longed to grasp hold of his shoulders, trace the muscles beneath his skin, thread her fingers through his hair. All she could do was wrap her legs around him and try to tilt her hips to grind down against him. Eames chuckled against her mouth and moved sinuously so that she couldn't actually rub against him in a way to get relief. "Nice try," he murmured.

"Can you blame me?"

"Yes," he murmured, nipping at her lip. He moved to kiss her jaw and neck, then licked at her collarbone as he unwrapped her legs. She made a mewling sound of disappointment, which only made him chuckle.

The sensation of something cold and sharp against the skin of her stomach gave her pause. "Is that the knife?" she asked, voice tremulous.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" he asked her, moving the cold steel against her skin in idle patterns.

She was wet from his earlier attentions, but for now she was mostly scared. "Knife play isn't my idea of a good time," she told him, hoping this wasn't all a lead in to slicing her open.

"Pity. Sometimes with heightened senses it can feel amazing."

Ariadne cringed backward into the bed as far as she could, but Eames merely followed her. It didn't feel as though he was cutting her, but just using the edge to introduce a new sensation against her skin. Without seeing anything, all she could do was feel the cold metal tracing patterns and calling up gooseflesh. After a moment of writhing beneath the knife, it almost seemed as though the tracings were not random at all. It felt almost like he was writing on her skin with the blunt edge of the blade, loops and whorls that might have been cursive script. Concentrating on identifying the motions helped draw her mind away from the fact that it was a blade, and she could almost understand what Eames meant by this feeling amazing.

"There you go," he crooned, completing another swirling motion. "Let go, Ariadne. Give up control to me."

This was more than just for sex, she was sure of it.

Ariadne twisted slightly, moaning as his lips came down to touch the inside of her knee. She had no idea how he was contorting himself, but it didn't matter. There was the clatter of the knife hitting the floor, then his fingers were tracing the whorls and loops across her skin. The pads were rough, especially compared to the softness of his lips and hair on the inside of her thigh. She splayed her legs wide to give him room, making him laugh. After a moment he did oblige her, dipping his head between her legs right where she wanted him. He nuzzled her first, the barest edge of stubble rubbing at the sensitive skin. Then he licked at her flesh, fingers stroking her knees occasionally.

When she was too close but not quite to the edge of orgasm, Eames moved away. Ariadne groaned and tried to twist herself as if she could reach for him. Something soft and feathery touched her torso, right below her sternum, and it traced lazy circles and swirling designs across her skin. It tickled, making her laugh and twist away from him, bringing her down from the high without frightening her the way the knife would have. Eames knew her too well by now, and when his mouth descended over hers, she enthusiastically kissed him back.

One hand slid down her body and then curled around her sex. Eames traced her slick folds without sliding inside her wet heat, making her groan in frustration. "Come on," she whined, pulling at her restraints and trying to turn toward his body. "Eames, I need you inside me."

"Oh, you do?" he asked, voice lazy and amused. It was maddening, especially when he drew his hand away from her center. "I could possibly oblige you."

She felt his cock press against her lips, and she knew it wasn't going to be over soon. He was going to torment her before giving her relief, then. It took a long time for him to recover from an orgasm; usually Ariadne tried not to have him come in her mouth if she planned to do anything else to him. She wasn't in control in this situation, but she could refuse to suck on his cock if she really wanted to. It would be easier to play along with this game of his. If anything, being on the receiving end of this kind of attention had been a fantasy of hers for a while now.

Eames made an approving noise as she took him as far as she could. "I'm going to push you today, darling," he warned her. She could feel his weight shift on the bed slightly, and heard the creak of the headboard. Another moment and one of his hands came to brace her head as he slowly pushed deeper into her mouth. "Relax. Let go of _everything,_ and realize what this truly means."

There were loopholes to this, she was sure. If he _thought_ he was in control of her, then she wouldn't actually have to bend over backward for him. If he thought he had the upper hand, then she could still figure out what the hell she could do to reverse the damage done to him in Gotham City.

Ariadne tried, she really did, but she had a strong gag reflex and she choked when Eames pushed a little too far. He withdrew from her mouth, hissing at the scraping of teeth. She coughed and turned her head, making little choking sounds. "Too fast," she gasped after a moment.

"I gathered that," he remarked dryly. His fingers on her cheeks were gentle, moving to tenderly stroke her shoulders and arms. "Ready to try again?"

"Yeah, I can try again."

He was slower this time, a little less bold with his thrusts into her mouth. Starting with shallow thrusts, he slowly deepened his strokes a little at a time. She did her best to run her tongue along his length, but after a while all she could do was add a little suction. It was enough to have him hiss in pleasure, his fingers tightening across the back of her skull. Though she didn't usually swallow, there was no getting around it now.

Afterward, Eames withdrew from her mouth with a little popping sound, and he lavished her body with kisses, licks and touches. Now his fingers slid inside her slicked folds as his lips closed over her clit. He worked her back to that edge of orgasm, then moved away to stroke her thighs with his fingers and lips. Ariadne groaned and called out for him to fuck her already, she couldn't take more of this kind of teasing. "Oh, you can," he murmured, licking everything except her clit. "And you will if I want you to."

His mouth was back over her breasts, suckling and teasing her again. She writhed and moaned as he teased her, not even caring anymore what she sounded like. There was just his mouth, his fingers and whatever soft materials he drew across her sensitized skin. Panting hard enough that her mouth was dry, Ariadne couldn't do much more than make breathless squeaking sounds. That seemed to be Eames' endgame, however. He pulled back and then his cock was slamming deeply into her, making her cry out in satisfaction. Eames rode her hard, pulling the blindfold from her eyes at a random moment.

When she finally came, her entire body shook. It felt as though her heart was about to stop in her chest. Still trembling when he pulled out, Ariadne watched helplessly as he untied her from the bed and then covered her with a blanket. "Sleep," he urged her, tucking in the edges of the blanket as if she was a small child. There was enough of that darkly possessive gaze to keep Ariadne from making a sarcastic retort.

Eames kissed her forehead tenderly, then locked her into the bedroom.

***  
***


	5. Clearing The Air

Whispers centered around Mombasa, and underlings combed through various contacts. Yusuf was their chemist, but he was freelance. He supplied the chemicals they needed, no questions asked. He rarely left his den for the outside world, and if he did it was generally clear why he did. Bane knew that the last time he had left Mombasa it was for Paris. The job itself wasn't entirely clear, but the known players involved were high caliber. It wasn't League of Shadows business, and Yusuf knew better than to tangle with such things.

No, Yusuf wasn't the source of the whispers looking for Bane or meddling in his interests. That meant someone new was in Mombasa, and that could not be tolerated.

He liked Old Town, at least. It was a nice place to visit while he chased down this second shadow lurking in his wake.

There were plenty of League agents wandering through the city streets. There were mercenaries aplenty in the twisting streets, former members of various international alphabet agencies as well as mercenaries for hire.

There wasn't any new interest Yusuf's dream den; Bane had seen fit to dig deep into Yusuf's interests before making him the usual supplier for his venom. If Yusuf could guess what it was for, he never said. The venom was a particularly potent narcotic, and it alleviated the worst of the pain surrounding the ruins of Bane's face. The mask supplied a steady infusion of the venom, and it was enough to keep him speaking, eating and drinking as necessary. Without it, the pain became so overwhelming he might as well be paralyzed. The face was too densely innervated for him to tolerate that much pain at once. With the venom, however, he could not only ignore the twisted mass of flesh that was his mouth and nose, but he could also withstand more physical discomfort than most men could.

His second was in Gotham City, locked away in Arkham Asylum. It was a long game of sorts; Bane didn't believe for a moment that Batman was truly dead. Barsad was willing to sacrifice his freedom and potentially his mind for the sake of the Brotherhood, and there was no one else with as much inner strength to withstand the isolation that was his punishment for a prolonged length of time the way he could.

Bane's third was a silent man who knew he could never replace Barsad. He didn't even try. Instead he worked to serve the League of Shadows and Bane in every capacity he had. If it bothered him to be counted as a third, he never displayed the disappointment. He moved through the streets of Old Town and the newer sections of Mombasa silently, returning to Bane in the evenings with scraps of news. There was no one new entering the dream den, no new regulations on somnacin components, no difficulties for the usual suspects making ends meet.

"There is a man looking to hire assassins and mercenaries to level an entire city," the man said, bowing his head in front of Bane. "No target mentioned, but it is in Europe. The idea is to raze it to the ground, then let the people build a new city in its place."

"Interesting," Bane said, eyes sharp and ears alert. "Who is this man?"

"His name is Eames, and he lives in Mombasa. He once knew Berenger."

Bane smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. It wasn't a pleasant smile, and even the mask obliterating his face couldn't hide that fact. "Excellent. Let us go meet our new friend."

***

Sore and skin tingling everywhere, Ariadne gingerly sat down on the couch. She relaxed into the overstuffed cushions, thinking of her thesis defense. Her tickets were booked for her return flight to Paris in two days, and she couldn't help but feel like a failure. Eames was still in that strange half state between who he was and who Bane was, and she hadn't been able to draw him out of it. He had spent more time dominating the hell out of her in the bedroom, his eyes following every motion she made when she was out of it. He had unlocked the door about twenty minutes ago, amused to find her still lounging in bed, completely fucked out from earlier. It was hard to think in that state, and he knew it.

Ariadne didn't think there would be any problem defending her thesis. With nothing else to preoccupy her in Mombasa, she had focused on her work while waiting for her e-mails to be answered. She knew the material backwards and forwards. There was some nervousness about the entire process, the usual fears of stumbling over her words or looking like a fool if her mind blanked out. But she had been doing this long enough that if she couldn't describe what she wanted to do and explain how it could be done, she didn't deserve her degree.

Eames hovered behind her, slipping his hands along her shoulders. His palms rested lightly there, his long fingers sliding along her collarbone. He dropped a kiss at the top of her head. "I'm sure you'll think of me even in Paris," he murmured into her hair. She made a noncommittal hum in reply, not sure what to say. Whatever this thing was between them would likely end when she went back to Paris, right? He couldn't possibly be this possessive from another continent.

Whatever remained of her logic informed her that he would find a way. There were ties between them, regardless of the emotional label they wanted to use. He was possessive and sometimes coercive, but underneath it all he still cared about her. He wanted her safe, and she clung to that concept tightly. Ariadne might not have known what was going on in his mind, and he frightened her sometimes, but he wanted her safe.

"I'm going to stay there, even after my defense is done," she murmured. She hadn't really decided for sure, but as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they were true. This level of tension wasn't healthy, and she didn't enjoy worrying this much. Once she was back on familiar ground, surrounded by her usual friends and doing the job hunting thing, the anxiety levels would drop and she could probably loosen hold of the guilt she felt.

Hands tightening on her shoulders, Eames exhaled heavily. "You are," he murmured, no inflection in his tone. "I—"

Whatever he was going to say was lost by the sharp knock on the front door. Frowning, Eames left Ariadne's side and moved into a defensive position near the doorway. He took a glimpse through the peephole, then relaxed his stance and threw the door open with a grand smile. "To what do I owe this honor?" he asked.

To Ariadne's horror, three men with dark clothing, open weapons at their sides, and soulless eyes entered the apartment. Following them was Bane.

Bane looked at Eames as if sizing him up, his eyes sharp. Those eyes swung to Ariadne's stricken expression as she sat on the couch, her fear at the sight of the guns palpable. He looked back toward Eames. They had the same height, and Bane was built far more massively than Eames was. The mask on his face concealed the majority of his facial expression. It was impossible to tell if he was amused or infuriated.

"You are Eames," he intoned, the mask distorting the sound of his voice. Ariadne couldn't tell by inflection what his emotion was, and the accent made it somewhat difficult to track his words.

"I am, brother. Welcome to Mombasa."

Bane walked a few steps in a little circle, taking in the arrangement of the furniture and the two people in the apartment besides him and his men. His men had already taken up vantage points in the area, in case Ariadne wasn't as terrified as she appeared to be. Eames appeared to be amused by the precaution, and he gave them all an indulgent smile. Ariadne wanted to shout at him to cut it out, this wasn't funny, it was _the fucking League of Shadows_ and they would be killed if he didn't stop. They had killed people for less than this, according to Arthur, and no one crossed them without messy reprisals.

She wasn't even going to make it to Paris at this rate.

"You are a minimalist, it seems," Bane commented, finally settling back on evaluating Eames.

"I don't believe in ostentatious displays," Eames replied easily, offering a half shrug of his shoulders. "I have what I need here, and I don't want more. My place in things is less for design and more in paving the way for reconstruction."

"Oh? I thought you were a thief."

"Forger," Eames corrected, pride in his tone. 

Bane merely lofted an eyebrow at this and fixed Eames with a stare. Ariadne stayed very still on the couch, sure that getting up to hide in the bedroom would get his attention, and his attention was the last thing she wanted right now. "Indeed," was all Bane said after a moment.

"There are many different applications of such a talent," Eames continued blithely. "The most important, as far as I'm concerned, is the versatility. It keeps my mind open to possibilities and opportunities. It's not the forgery itself that's the important part, brother. It's knowing what will happen next."

"Which is?" Bane prompted, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

Eames fixed him with a wide, pleased smile. "Chaos, of course."

"Explain," he prompted again when Eames didn't continue speaking.

"The average person is too caught up in the petty day to day concerns," Eames replied, making a vague gesture. Bane gave a short nod, conceding that point. "They don't bother to think of the futility of their actions, that their concerns are ignored by those that supposedly help them. Those in power don't care about the little man, the children, the helpless. They care about acquiring more power. It's how I've been hired in my other capacity, to impersonate people or create new documents to help them achieve their ends. It's not for any benevolent purpose, not for anything other than personal glory. They don't build, they merely acquire."

Ariadne listened in abject horror, but Bane appeared to contemplate the fervor of Eames' speech. "Do go on," he said, making a small gesture with one of his hands. He seemed almost amused by this, which Ariadne hoped meant they wouldn't be killed.

"Some places are just too corrupt to have the occasional do-gooder correct it. The weight of iniquity is too heavy a burden, and society becomes too sick. What's needed is to wipe it all clean. Start over again, let it all rebuild. Sometimes it just needs a little push to get it started, and the people can take care of the rest."

"Sounds rather like anarchy," Bane commented, uncrossing his arms and giving Eames a level look. He didn't seem angry, and the amusement was present in his posture now. The three nameless men with him didn't seem as tense, as if the arm crossing and then uncrossing had been a subtle signal of approval.

"If it's necessary, brother, so be it."

"And the girl?" Bane asked, gesturing toward Ariadne with a sweep of his hand. "Are these her beliefs as well?"

Eames deftly took a step toward Ariadne in such a way that he blocked direct view. "She is mine, brother. She's an architect, a builder. An eternal optimist, perhaps, but it's good to have balance in any plan."

"And if there is opposition to the plans that you pose?" Bane asked, voice dangerously soft.

"I told you," Eames replied, some of the same steel in his voice. It was eerie to see the two of them face to face; the times she had seen Bane looking at her through Eames' eyes was nothing in comparison to the real thing, but was terribly close. Eames' expression was chilling, and the cast of his eyes looked similar to the exposed parts of Bane's face. "She is mine, brother. _Mine._ She is under my protection, my discipline. I take care of what is mine by whatever means necessary. There's no need to interfere."

"And what do you propose?"

"You've left a man in Gotham, that's yours."

"Magnanimous of you," Bane said, sounding almost sarcastic behind the mask.

"My sights are set on Athens," Eames continued as if Bane hadn't spoken. "It's old and decadent, ripe for destruction. The people are already halfway there. All it needs is a little extra push, and I mean to apply the lever to begin its fall."

"And once it does, will you rebuild it with your architect?" Bane asked, gesturing toward Ariadne. She hoped she didn't appear as terrified as she felt, and Eames' amused laughter didn't help her feel any sort of comfort. "Is that funny, then, Mr. Eames?"

"Since when do men like us rebuild such places? Let them build their own city, if they have the skill and bravery to do such a thing. Let them earn their place or live like rats if they can't. I am no ruler, just a means to let the decadence wash away. The people must be equal, so the city must have the inequality lanced from its core. No more, no less."

Bane clasped a heavy hand on Eames' shoulder, eyes tilting as if he was grinning behind his frightening mask. "You are definitely a brother in arms to our cause, a friend to the League. You were not trained by us, but I see that you share many of our ideals."

"And I suppose this also means I'm a useful tool to remain in play," Eames replied sardonically. "If I'm not a League member, and don't use League players, it sows confusion in your enemies and leads authorities to look elsewhere."

Now Bane laughed outright. "Oh, I see you do indeed have a sharp mind. Part and parcel of a forger's position, to realize how and when they are useful, yes? We all have a role to play in this world, brother. A word of advice, given that you are indeed useful to our purposes, is to make quieter inquiries for men and make sure there are no inquiries about _you._ This is how I discovered your humble abode, after all. If not for that, Athens would have fallen and I would not have had even a whisper of your identity."

"I haven't been trying to hide my intentions from you or the rest of the League," Eames said with a half shrug. "I didn't think I needed to."

"No," Bane agreed with a nod. He removed his hand from Eames' shoulder and gestured for his men to leave the apartment. "There is no need for those of the shadows to hide from another. We are all well aware of our purpose. It is always good to have true friends of the League." Bane took a step to the side and his gaze fell onto Ariadne's pale face. "Keep your young woman protected, little brother. There are many who would prey at your doorstep and think that a tender girl would be excellent bait."

"I understand, brother. I'm taking steps."

"If you do need aid or wish to formally join the League..." Bane smiled again. "Follow the whispers in the shadows. I'm sure you'll find your way."

Ariadne breathed a sigh of relief when the door was shut behind Bane and his men. Eames locked the door, and turned to face her. He didn't seem scared or dismayed at all, as if it was an everyday occurrence for Bane to show up for a conversation. It didn't seem to bother him that their lives very well could have ended right there.

"You didn't have to be afraid," Eames murmured softly, approaching her. He pulled Ariadne to her feet and cradled her face in his hands. "I told you. I will always protect you."

Ariadne wanted to shake him and say that he was insane if he thought he could deal with the League of Shadows and escape unscathed. But knowing Eames, he would have an answer to that, especially after what had just happened. She had to break things off with Eames to stay safe, that much was clear. The words were on her tongue, ready to be said, but she was still attached to him. She didn't really want to completely sever ties if she could help it. It wasn't just dream share referrals, but that she actually cared about his wellbeing. She wanted him safe, even from himself, and she couldn't stand the thought of him lying dead in a gutter as a warning to those that meddled into League affairs the way Berenger had been left.

"What is it?" he asked, sensing her conflict.

"I don't think I can come back to Mombasa. Not when things are like this," she temporized.

"What you were talking about before we were so rudely interrupted," he observed.

"I can't do this, Eames," she whispered, placing one of her hands over his on her cheek. "I can't watch you do this to yourself. I don't know how to help you, and I can't stand there and let you do this."

"Do what? Let the wastrels in government drown in their own excesses and reap what they've sown? Bring about a glorious revolution?" He leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Darling, it's not your place to worry over this. I know what I'm doing."

"I can't help it. Unlike you, I can't pretend to be a dozen different people and pretend I care or don't care. And I'm telling you, I can't." She spun away from him and shook her head, too overcome by a flood of nameless emotion and the adrenaline from earlier.

"What are you saying?" Eames asked carefully, one of his hands resting on her side, fingers curling around her ribs protectively. He sounded like himself, and Ariadne turned slightly to face him, eyes searching his face.

"I love building," she choked out. "I love the magic in it, seeing entire cities rise up, playing around with physics like the rules don't really exist. But I can't live in this kind of world, Eames. I can't pretend that what you're doing makes sense to me. I can't live day to day scared out of my mind that something like this is going to happen, or the League changes its mind and kills you. Or anyone else I've come to care about," she added, thinking of Arthur and Yusuf.

"I've never asked you to," Eames replied, turning her to face him. He rested his hands on her hips, meeting her gaze head on.

This was too uncomfortably tense, but Ariadne couldn't back down from it. "I know. But I can't watch you go through this. I can't sit and wait, not knowing if someone is going to kill you. I can't do a thing to help you, I realize that now."

He moved a hand up to cup her face tenderly. "Ariadne."

She flashed him a sad smile. "There's only so much I can deal with, Eames. It's not fair to you to string you along and make you think I'm capable of more than that."

Something dark and pained flashed in his eyes. "You're trying to break up with me," he commented, his thumb brushing across her lower lip.

Ariadne didn't flinch. "Yes."

"I don't accept that."

She let out an annoyed huff. "I know what I'm talking about, Eames."

"I'm sure you do," he said, and there was that edge to his voice that reminded her of Bane. He wouldn't accept this, she realized suddenly. He wouldn't let her go.

"I'm going to Paris. If I ever come back to Mombasa – and I'm not sure if I will ever come back – it won't be like this. I'm not going to live here with you. I won't be party to whatever you're planning, whatever city you want to destroy. I can't stop you from doing it, I'm not able to do that and I know trying to will probably kill me." He nodded briefly when she paused. "I cannot live that way, Eames. I _can't."_

"I would never stop you from living your life," Eames began carefully, palm still cradling her face. "I wouldn't dream of making you live in shadows. You're too bright a creature, and it's not in your nature. I've always known that."

"I'm sorry," Ariadne whispered, covering her hand with his.

"You tried your best, and I do appreciate that. You're being honest with me, painfully honest, but this is your way, too. I know this of you. You have always been honest with me, even in the midst of all my plans." Eames leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss across her lips. He didn't step back, but continued to crowd her personal space. It didn't feel threatening now, but Ariadne knew that leaving him wouldn't be easy. "It's why I told you that I considered you my second. You keep me honest, you ground me. You inspire me to build better things out of the ashes of corruption and despair."

"I'm not anyone special," she protested, shaking her head.

"To me you are," Eames replied gently. "You are precious to me, necessary like the air I breathe or the bonds I must make for plans to succeed. Some things will never change. Should you need to show affection elsewhere, I would permit it if it was necessary. Know this, Ariadne. No matter where you go, what you do, you will always belong to me. Think of me as your shadow, darling. I will always be there."

It was both a threat and a promise.

The End


End file.
